


Haven Ace

by widdeesfanfiction



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Kingdom of Eastland, Kingdom of Northernwinter, Kingdom of Southblues, Kingdom of Westhaven, Torture, Violence, assassination attempt, dream/flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 58,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/widdeesfanfiction/pseuds/widdeesfanfiction
Summary: Crown Prince Hal of Westhaven.He doesn't want to be king, never has.But he's got no choice. He was born for this. He was groomed for this.
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

It was dusk; the sun slowly sinking below the horizon, pink and orange colours encasing the sky in a beautiful blend of colours; rays of sunlight lighting up the darkened Field of Death and Despair, and it would have been peaceful in the quiet of the night if not for the spilt blood and dead bodies strewn across the muddied field. 

Kingdom Westhaven had won the battle, and as the remaining soldiers trudged through the mud, collecting weapons of the dead men, William stopped to watch his trainee and young friend Hal, the Crown Prince and heir apparently. Hal stopped beside a crawling enemy man, positioned his sword, hilt in two pale hands. With a hard push of the deadly weapon, it cut through the man’s back and into the heart, and instantly, the body became a limp pile of dead limbs on the ground before Hal pulled the bloody sword from the corpse and turned to watch the sun. 

Because Hal looked so much like his deceased mother, Callista Fay Ace, with his black locks of hair that reached a little below his sharp jawline, the sharp cheekbones, the same otherworldly emerald green eyes, William had thought, when he first met the young man, that his emotions would be as expressive on his face, like they had been on his mother. As time passed however, and Hal became older, the prince simply became more and more difficult to understand, to read until one day, there was no emotions to be shown, to tell what the prince was truly feeling, thinking. 

William had neither been naïve nor oblivious though, so whenever his black eyes caught a glance of Hal, he knew which was shown was not who the young man really was. It seemed the real him was locked away in a box hidden faraway, the key hidden in a place only Hal could find. 

Though he could never figure out why this was, what he did know, William wants to know the real person under the surface. He had his doubts however, that he ever would – that anyone would. 

That was a privilege no one would ever be allowed to see, he believed. 

His eyes never left Hal; the young man’s form lean and tall, back straight, face undecipherable, eyes gazing at the death around them. It was in that moment their eyes locked. Black and emerald green. And for the first time in the eighteen-years William had known Hal, he could see something honest and true in those eyes that he had been unable to see before, hidden behind years’ worth of built walls, walls that surrounded the heart and soul of the person inside. It was something heavy that laid upon shoulders too young, an unknown burden weighting the young prince down. He could see now, as he looked into those eyes, even from this distance, that his friend was in extreme pain and suffering. 

Then their locked gaze broke as Hal tore his eyes away from his and looked at the death surrounding them. 

William watched his friend’s hand tighten around the hilt of his sword, knuckles white before Hal was walking away. 

How had he not seen this before? 

More so, how long had Hal been feeling... that way?


	2. Chapter 1

Splash, it sounded when feet slapped into the wet ground, from the rain that poured down from the dark night sky up above, as William followed behind the crown prince of Westhaven. Through the filthy streets of the Bloom Village they walked. 

Poindexter’s tavern. 

They had arrived at their destination. 

It was Hal that opened the doors to the tavern – that selfless soul that he is, even though people were supposed to do it for his royal highness – and as they entered the crowded place, all he could hear was the loud drunken men that made such a racket. He could barely hear the rain anymore, that loud these men were. 

After he closed the doors behind them, he turned back—a drunken, older man with greying strands in his brown head of hair knocked into Hal. With the prince’s swift reflexes, a hand caught the arm of the man, steadied him before he let go and asked, “You alright, sir?” 

The man did not seem to hear Hal’s question however, as he grumbled curses at Hal under his breath, but the moment the man looked up he stopped. His eyes glued to the prince. 

William followed the man’s gaze; regal embellishments on Hal’s navy-blue tunic, an indication of the prince’s status; the scar on Hal’s left cheek peeking through his black locks of hair, identifying which royal was in their very presence. When what the older man was really seeing registered in his mind, all previous irritation vanished, replaced by a sudden nervousness, as a gasp tore through his throat and he stammered out, “Y—your Highness! I did not see—uh, please forgive me, and my uh, fumbling mess.” 

However, Hal just waved a hand dismissively. “No need. It was a simple mistake. Such happens to the best of us,” he said. 

But the man looked hesitant, unsure as he had to ask, “Are you sure, Your Highness? Because I—” 

“I am certain, yes,” Hal reassured the man. “What is your name, sir?” 

Stunned, the man answered, “Uh, Fitzroy, Your Highness.” 

William felt the corner of his lips involuntarily curl into an amused smile, failing to suppress it. But Hal noticed, and gave him a look, before he followed with a small and discreet nod towards the bar, and so, William returned the prince’s nod with one of his own. He understood. 

Politely, he said, “If you would excuse me.” He looked at the older man and said, “Sir,” before he turned to Hal, bowed at the neck and said, “Your Highness.” 

The crown prince gave a nod. “William.” 

Then William went towards the bar, sat down on one of the stools and was instantaneously engaged in a conversation with the blond-haired, blue-eyed bartender, Wade and his equally blond-haired, blue-eyed little sister, Beck, the co-owners of the Poindexter’s tavern. His eyes often strayed back to his royal friend. 

Meanwhile Hal raised a hand and gestured to a wooden table in the corner of the darkened tavern. “Would you like to join me for a drink?” 

Fitzroy shook his head, a sheepish smile on his face as he said, “Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” 

“You wouldn’t be if I asked, no?” Hal asked. 

Fitzroy couldn’t even disagree with the prince’s logic on that, so he agreed, though reluctantly so, “No. I suppose you’re right.” 

“Well, then. Shall we?” 

Fitzroy had already agreed, so he didn’t dare oppose any more than he has already. It was a generous offer, an honour not many were given. And so, when they were finally seated opposite each other, one a commoner, the other a crown prince, Hal was the first to speak, “I couldn’t help but take notice of that accent of yours,” he said, the prince’s own very different from the older man’s. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Fitzroy gave a shake of his head as he replied, “No, I’m not. I’m from the North.” 

He watched as the prince gave a tilt of his head, a movement so small it was barely visible. “Hm. King Noah’s kingdom.” 

Suddenly, Fitzroy tensed as he realised... 

“Oh, don’t worry,” the prince said, and it snapped the older man from his inner panic. “King Noah is an enemy of King Jacob. Not me.” 

And so, a breath of relief escaped his lungs then. Fitzroy hadn’t even realised he’d held his breath. 

“But the Northern accent,” the crown prince continued, and as he did so, Fitzroy could feel his heart slowing, as he became less tense. “So vastly different from the Western, it is.” 

“It is... But what of the others? I have only ever heard both of ours.” 

Then intense emerald green eyes locked with his own blue ones. Prince Hal’s eyes were such a magnificent sight. Rare. Out of this world. Beautiful. 

“Oh, have you now?” 

“Just ours,” Fitzroy confirmed. 

He watched as the prince gave a slow nod as he let out a, “Hm... Then you have never heard the four languages either, I suppose? Beside your own, of course.” 

Fitzroy shook his head. 

“It makes sense, I suppose, if you haven’t met any South nor East people...” the prince trailed off. 

The older man understood. So, he answered, “I haven’t.” 

“Hm... What a shame it is they don’t teach this to the common folk,” Prince Hal said, tone dripping with disapproval and disappointment. 

Fitzroy looked at the prince opposite him curiously then. “But you know the languages?” 

Prince Hal nodded. “Yes... Part of my education, it is.” 

“Then you can speak the four languages?” 

The young prince hummed, “Hm. The accents too, I suppose.” 

“Really?” 

A nod. “Of course, King Jacob only wanted us, my siblings and I, to be taught the languages so we could speak it. Said the accents weren’t necessary.” Right then, at the last word, Fitzroy swore he could hear something bitter about the prince’s tone. But why? “But I disagreed... Suppose it could have been a bit of a... hm... a simple act of a childish rebellion on my part, a way to oppose King Jacob as the child I so was. So, I taught myself the four accents.” 

Fitzroy’s brows raised. “And are you any good?” 

“I would hope so, but we’ll let you be the judge of that, hm,” Prince Hal said, but instead of his Western accent, Fitzroy recognised it as his own; the Northern accent. It didn’t just sound fluent to him, it sounded native. And he knows, if he met the young royal before him by chance in the street and Prince Hal had been dressed like a commoner, with that Northern accent, Fitzroy would have believed the young man was a native of the North. 

“The decision to teach myself the four accents was entirely impulsive, because I never liked being taught the four languages,” the heir continued but in the Eastern accent – and again, native, not fluent. 

“And I admit, I could have stopped teaching myself, but I did never do things halfway. Either way, the languages sounds far better with the accents.” The Southern accent was like the two before it, excellent. 

“So, what do you think?” Prince Hal asked then, now back to his native Western accent. 

“Well, I haven’t got a clue what the accents sounds like before now, so, I would say, on the account they sound, as you said,” Fitzroy gestured to the prince before him. “’So vastly different,’ that you did very well. I’m impressed.” 

Prince Hal gave him a nod, his way of showing his gratitude for the compliment, Fitzroy guessed. 

Just then, the older man caught sight of William, who had accompanied the heir to the tavern. William was walking towards them and when the black-haired man was close enough, Fitzroy was offered a jug of ale. 

He looked towards the prince in response, who raised his own ale. “My treat.” 

“Well then,” he said, as William took a seat at the table. Fitzroy gave Prince Hal a smile as he raised his jug in good cheer and exclaimed, “Hear, hear!”


	3. Chapter 2

For a moment everything was silent.

A child’s breathing was the only thing to be heard in the cold dungeon. It was so dark.

But then, abruptly, there was a child screaming and crying.

The blood in the eight-year-old’s veins was boiling, boiling and boiling. It felt as if the skin, one layer at a time, was slowly melting off the child’s bones, prolonging the moment of excruciating agony.

The child was burning, burning from the inside out.

An eternity. It felt like it continued like so for an eternity.

An eternity. An eternity. An...

The screams stopped, and so did the crying. Now there was the heavy breathing of a child, a child’s body which was coated in a layer of sweat. The child’s throat was hurting.

“How does it feel?” a voice said then, and the child’s eyes snapped open. 

When had he closed them?

A man standing there, the child could see through his blurry vision. Was he crying?

The child looked down at his arms, but they were fine. The pain, it was all in his head.

The man opened his mouth and spoke, “It hurts? You feel alone? Feel like you’re dying inside?”

Near this man or not, the child did feel alone.

“Well, now you know what your father makes us specials feel. What we feel down to our very last breath. Because of that, this is fair.”

Equality.

“I have the right to do this, like non-specials have the right to torture us specials, like they have the right to kill us. It’s only fair. Its right.”

Then the pain returned.

Blood was boiling. Skin was melting off his bones.

The child could hear the man’s words in his head, repeating, louder and louder, like a never-ending echo.

The child screamed—

Bang, such a loud, booming noise, it resonated through the silent morning, cutting through Hal’s dream and waking him from his sleep with a sharp inhale as a jolt of pain hit his heart like knife cutting through the beating organ.

He didn’t raise his head from his pillow.

Pain pulsing through his veins. Aching joints. Pounding migraine. Burning pain in his spinal cord that made his back feel uncomfortably warm and numb, something which became worse with every breath he took.

Through the ringing in his ears, the pain and the fatigue, Hal still remembered his dream.

A memory.

It made him think of Fitzroy.

Quickly, he discarded the thought, as he listened to the stomping of feet walking across the wooden floors of his home. Loud. Too heavy to be female.

But then there was another pair of feet. Much quieter than the first. Gentle footfalls. Accompanied by shushing.

There were only ever two people who entered his home like that, or ever really.

“Hal!” And there it was. Wade’s voice, loud—too loud, strained, and Hal recognized the reason behind it without so much as a look. Pain. He’d heard it before, so many times he’d grown accustomed to it.

Shush. That was Beck.

A hand, gentle and feminine was placed on his bare arm. “Hal,” it was said in a significantly lower voice than her older brother’s. 

Thoughtful.

“Wade has hurt himself again,” Beck continued but something was amiss. She didn’t say it in her usual exasperated, annoyed way to convey her frustration with her older brother’s habitual accidental-prone incidents.

Before Hal could move however...

Slowly, the hand beneath the pillow, he clenched it, pain erupting and growing worse as it slithered up his arm like a snake—quickly, he uncurled his fist and inhaled... exhaled.

So, next best thing...

“How did you get in?” he asked. His voice was quiet and raspy, the typical morning voice, and the opposite of Wade’s currently. Wade must have been awake for a while.

Hal needed a moment. So, he stalled with a question.

“’How did I get in?’” Wade repeated incredulously. “What do you mean ‘how did I get in?’ I walked through the door.”

Beck’s touch didn’t leave.

As his eyes fluttered open, he could see she had crouched down at his side.

“How did you get in?” he repeated.

“You didn’t lock your door. Shame on you, Hal. Anyone could just walk through the door. At any time,” Wade said, and to finish off his scolding, he gave a great disappointed sigh, to the point of dramatics. And Hal could imagine it in his mind, but with an added shake of his head.

Lock.

“A key,” Hal mumbled then.

“Huh?”

“A key,” he repeated but louder. “You had a key made.” It wasn’t a question.

Hal could hear Wade heave a defeated sigh as he gave in. “How did you know it this time, huh? No, really. How do you know these things, Hal?”

“Hm... The ‘I’s’ when you should have said we.” Or because Hal always locked the door. But Hal didn’t say this. It was far more amusing to choose the more difficult explanation.

When Wade didn’t say anything, Hal sighed and asked Beck, “What happened this time?”

But she seemed to take a moment to answer as she helped him get up from his place on the bed. So, he took the opportunity to give her a glance, noting the way her eyes moved around the room, searching, refusing to look at him. Beck was nervous. But why?

Only when he was sat at the side of his bed, both feet firmly planted on the floor – and God, did it hurt – did she start, but hesitatingly so as she said, face and voice, both visibly unsure, “Um, well...” Then she perked up suddenly. “Oh, you know Wade! Always finding new ways to get hurt!”

Beck was correct; Hal did know Wade. But he knew her too.

Hal gave Wade a quick glance. Sat on a stool in front of the burning fire, body leaning to the right, avoiding the injury on the back of his left thigh.

Then he looked up at Beck, who had come to stand in front of him. He tilted his head slightly. “Let me guess...” What hadn’t Wade hurt himself on? In ridiculous ways and not? “...he sat on pieces of glass." 

Her face visibly brightened at that, and Hal knew they were withholding something.

“Yes! Exactly!” Beck exclaimed, too quick, too enthusiastic.

Hal nodded along. “Preposterous.”

Beck nodded too but quickly and eagerly unlike him, a smile simultaneously lightening up her face “Prepost—” Her smile dimmed. “Prepust—prepoust—prepoustly... Pre-what?”

He was amused but didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. She surely wouldn’t appreciate him doing so. Would probably think he was making fun of her.

So, he simply repeated the word, slowly, “Preposterous.”

She squinted at him as she tried to mimic him, “Pre... Pre... Pr—” she shook her head. “You know what, I can’t do it. I’ll let you have your intelligent-sophisticated-sounding word vocabulary to yourself, Hal.”

“Ha!” Wade boomed then. “Didn’t know you could say such a complicated word, little sister.”

Beck stared at the oldest in the room. “What?”

“Vocabulary. Ha!”

Now she was glaring. “Then you say it!”

“Vocabulary.”

She shook her head and said “No. No, the other word. Pre-something.” Then she turned to Hal. “Say the word again. Tell him, Hal.”

Hal tilted his head but didn’t make a move to look at Wade, as he did as Beck whished. “Preposterous.”

A pause.

“Pre... what?”

Beck smiled. “You can’t say it either, big brother.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade grumbled then. “How about you come help your old friend now, Hal?”

As Hal proceeded to push himself up from his bed, Beck said, “Aw! Hal to your rescue!”

“Shut up,” Wade grumbled under his breath, in his deep voice.

Hal picked up the small fire shovel from where it hung on the wall beside the fireplace, the burning flames crackling. He gave a small jerk of his head when he said, “Stand up,” to Wade, whilst simultaneously sitting on the stool behind the older man.

Wade complained unintelligibly under his breath as he moved to obey, whilst Hal let the end of the fire shovel grow hot in the burning fire.

Wade’s trousers were cut up in the back of his left thigh that there was no need to pull the fabric down.

The wound though, was strangely enough a clean cut. Not from a shard of glass, then. Certainly not a plethora of them.

Hal had literally offered up an excuse earlier and Beck had taken it with a touch of gratitude and relief.

Swiftly, he gave a jab to Wade’s ribs making the man yelp and grasp at his side as Hal pressed the small fire shovel, now an orange colour, against the cut. This time Wade flailed in pain as the skin sizzled. Hal caught a whiff of the familiar repulsive stench of burning flesh, despite the brief contact.

Then he pulled back and put the fire shovel away.

A hand ruffled his dark locks of hair as Wade sat back down on the stool, not without a wince. No words were needed. Hal knew it was his friend’s way of showing his gratitude.

Hal moved from his place to sit at the end of his bed. Beck sat beside him.

Then Wade gave a dramatic inhale, shoulders raising unnecessarily. “Now,” he said, voice firm. “King Jacob had his little friend come to me. What’s his name again? Antonio? Anton? Anwir? Anwir, that’s his name. Now, Anwir whispered to me about the son of the king, you know that young, immature, irresponsible and rebellious one?”

Hal knew the advisor hadn’t said those disrespectful words. If the man was anything, disrespectful wasn’t it.

“Oldest. Heir of the kingdom. Anyway, he tells me said immature, irresponsible, rebellious son refuses to listen to his father’s beckoning. So, here I am.” Wade spread his arms wide.

“Here you are,” Hal said too, giving the older man a nod.

Wade looked at him, eyes wandering across his face. “This time is different, Hal.”

The prince remained seemingly indifferent to his friend’s words, though his heart gave a jolt of pain. 

“So, the king never fails to tell me.”

“Well, never enough to come to me, as you know,” Wade pointed out.

Hal knew Wade was correct. His father sent Anwir, the king’s very own advisor – someone King Jacob considered important, even the tiniest bit so – which made it obvious the importance of this matter. King Jacob had never gone to such lengths before, to ensure Hal’s presence which indicated the king wanted – perhaps thought it best was less of a stretch – the heir was present.

He hadn’t been to any council meeting in the last three years. Hal was eighteen back then.

“Hal,” Beck started, her voice gentle, and Hal looked at her. “Why don’t you want to go?”

Genuine concern swept across her face.

Hal knew she wanted to understand, been wanting it since they met. So, even though it wouldn’t convey how bad it was, he said, “I’ll never be able to change what he’s done, but for you I shall attend.”

Then he stood – a silent indicator to the end of their conversation – and Hal could see Wade and Beck’s perplexed facial expressions. But even as he moved to get properly dressed – well, nothing his father would approve of – for the council meeting, still, neither the Poindexter brother nor Poindexter sister said a word, despite the opportunity to pester him.


	4. Chapter 3

Hal walked down the long hallways of the castle. His eyes looked out the windows that overlooked the Bloom village – the one village that was inside the outer castle walls – as well as the villages beyond that as he passed on his way to the Great Hall. 

The sight of the filthy and grey and dark and dreary streets of the villages made him think of how ill it made the people.

He sighed.

Jacob was the king; he should have done something – anything to improve the state of his kingdom, the man just didn’t care.

As he neared the Great Hall, he could see two guards standing there, one on each side of the doors. Despite their strong stances, they didn’t look any less exhausted. They must have been there for ages.

He shook his head.

Hal made a small but noticeable enough nod of his head to the double doors, and the two men took a door handle each, and opened them. Their movements were slow, lethargic, unsteady.

As he walked through, he threw a glance back over his shoulder as the doors closed.

Why does Jacob bother saying his behest, in that very demanding, raised voice of his, when all that’s needed is a silent gesture?

Right.

The guards, they didn’t get the breaks they should – where others took over – therefore not enough sleep, rendering them exhausted, slow, too tired to properly do what they’re supposed to.

That’s it. They weren’t disobeying. Just slow out of exhaustion. No doubt they were starving too.

King Jacob wasn’t properly taking care of his people.

The people were giving, but the king wasn’t giving back.

Hal came to a stop in front of the throne King Jacob sat in. This was his first proper look at the older man for months, in all the king’s weakened glory. 

He clenched the hand clasped behind his back suddenly but remained otherwise indifferent. A discreet look around told him no one noticed the movement.

Hal didn’t bow.

The silence in the room, as he stood there, hung heavy on his shoulders. Though everyone’s eyes settled upon him, King Jacob’s unrelenting gaze was the worst of them all.

Eyes glanced to the right, searching until they caught sight of his little brothers and sisters. They were standing to the right of the grand, dark red carpet he stood in the middle of.

He made eye contact with each of them, one at a time.

Ethel. Alisha. Jonas. Eddie. Alfie. Emmett.

And Emil... who, for the lack of a better word, seemed unable to look him in the eye for too long which was out of the ordinary for his little brother. Where was that stubborn little brother of his?

Heart grew tight then, and he clenched his hand even harder as that brutal sense of dread overcame him like a dark cloud, unwilling to let the breeze of air carry the grey clouds away and replace it with a sun, burning so bright. Hal recognized this feeling of dread. He had felt it before, beating down on him, unrelenting in its torment.

His irises moved to lock with those of William instead, who stood beside the oldest of his little siblings. Then the older, black-haired man threw Emil a glance before he gave a roll of his shoulders and gave a barely noticeable nod to the king sitting at his throne – and suddenly, there wasn’t just a dread in his heart, but an accompanying feeling of stabbing pain. It was like an enemy on the battlefield just dealt him a fatal blow and punctured the beating muscle in his chest.

Nails were digging into his palm just then, and there was the familiar feeling of a thick liquid beneath the nails, so he slowly uncurled his fist and released the breath he had been holding. With the seemingly never-ending strength inside his very soul, he turned back to the king, ignoring the consistent eyes of the people on him with an ease recognisable in those accustomed to such attention. And Hal, he couldn’t remember a time where the eyes of millions hadn’t been on him.

King Jacob took a deep, shaky breath, the man’s entire body visibly shuddering beneath the king’s royal mantle, the fabric that covered up the entirety of the older man’s being. That deep red colour of the garment worn on the man had always made Hal recall, ever since his first kill, the blood of those he’d killed in the battles he’d fought.

“My son, Haven,” the king spoke then, in a voice much deeper and hoarser than its supposed to be – very much like Jacob was well on his way of losing his voice. “It looks as if, despite my life nearing its inevitable end, it is you who looks worse than I...” King Jacob gave Hal a long look, dark blue eyes burning into his son, criticizing before he gave his final ever-so rude input, “...and it’s not just your clothes.” Just you and your smell and... well, everything about you really. It wasn’t said, but Hal heard the unsaid, even if no one else could do the same.

Hal bathed regularly, Jacob did not, and yet he was the one that looked worse for wear?

There was a definite faulty to his father’s observation.

Greasy hair? Jacob had months’ worth of filthy dark brown hair. It looked shiny as it lay flat on top of the king’s head.

Hal had taken a bath the evening before, so greasy nor filthy wouldn’t be correct for his head of black hair. Messy however, that it was.

Clothing? It looked like Jacob wore a dress, from the neck down to the floor – which, nothing wrong with wen wearing women’s clothing, but with the mantle worn incorrectly like that, it just looked preposterous.  
Black shoes, black trousers, black and navy-blue doublet, a long black coat on over it. There really wasn’t anything about Hal’s clothing to complain about, except the ugly doublet perhaps, but commoners had to wear worse every day of their lives, so...

Smell? Jacob was dying, and with the absence of a bath for however many months, the smell was repulsive.

Besides the distant—no, there really wasn’t anything wrong with the way Hal smelled. He hadn’t taken even a gulp of ale after his late night’s bath. He hadn’t eaten anything at all really or done anything to make him smell bad in any way.

What of their individual appearance? Jacob was old with wrinkles, and deathly pale skin.

Hal was a healthy pale, and young so...

No, there really wasn’t anything wrong with Hal’s appearance. The scar beneath his left eye, he didn’t really care for it. Ugly or not, he didn’t have to see it for himself either way.

In the end, these unnecessary and rude – and once upon a time, hurtful insults – Hal knew was said from the imperfection his father saw in him. And okay, perhaps it stung a little bit. But it was comforting to know the insults didn’t hurt as much as it had done when he was but a little child, a boy desperate for a father’s love.

King Jacob inhaled, and shakily so. “The issue regarding my succession... I have made a decision, for the reasons you can clearly see here, in the embodiment of my eldest son.”

As the king gestured to said son, Hal gave William a quick glance without a turn of his head, but in that moment, their eyes locked, and the older of the two could see, in the crown prince’s eyes when realisation hit the heir of the throne. The puzzle pieces were piecing itself together inside Hal’s mind right before William’s eyes.

But William wondered; how could the eldest prince understand just from those few words King Jacob just spewed?

Without any more context to the king’s declaration, even William wouldn’t have understood what was happening yet – and he, he was smart. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have made it this far in life. Hal often reminded William of himself really, with his intelligence and his swiftness to adapt to anything and his perceptive outlook on the world.

Such a person was one to stand beside in life, war, anything, not against.

Hal broke their gaze and looked back at the king on his mighty throne. He now understood the cause behind the dread in his heart.

“That you,” King Jacob continued as the older man’s eyes never strayed from his son before him. “Despite being the eldest, and rightful heir to the crown... does not care for duty, and therefore is not fit to be king. Henceforth, I declare you, Haven Ace Prince of Westhaven, be disinherited.”

Relief, that is what Hal should have felt, but if he wasn’t to be king, who was?

Wait...

“And the privilege and responsibility of this kingdom shall befall my other son, Prince Emil Ace.”

And so, the dread in his heart was replaced by the familiar jolt of pain.

Emerald locked with a dark blue, the colour of his father’s eyes.

Emil raised his chin and Hal’s little brother stood straighter suddenly, but he could see through the feigned act of bravery.

“Even though he has yet to finish his education, he is young and eager for the duty this position presents. Thus, he is ready enough,” King Jacob finished his declaration then, and the tone of his voice held a finality to it that signified that was the end of it.

The silence that followed was enough for Hal to know no one dare say a word to defy their king.

Hal did agree with his father; Emil was eager for the powerful status of king, but part of the reason for that, was because his little brother craved their father’s attention and pride.

Emil was young like Jacob said, but nineteen was a little too young. And what of the unfinished education? That made Hal’s little brother even less ready to be king. But no matter, because Emil wasn’t ready to rule a kingdom either way, despite what his father said of it.

Emil was soft-hearted with a baby face. He reacted impulsively in the face of confrontation. His little brother often came off as a spoiled child whenever he didn’t get his way and tended to raise his voice when there was no need for it which, in the end, only came of as a child throwing a tantrum.

Then there was Emil’s war experience. There was none. Such naivety could be dangerous for a king.

Cough, such a raw and loud sound in the silent Great Hall as it tore from King Jacob’s throat, wracking the man’s entire body. 

Such a pitiful sight.

Had King Noah seen this, the man would have beheaded King Jacob right where he sat.

When the king’s prolonged coughing spurt came to an end, Jacob cleared his throat, followed by a visible wince before he spoke, “Now,” but his voice broke and came of unsteady.

So, with another clear of the throat, the king tried again, “It seems, a time not far from now, there will be yet another battle against King Noah, as an army of his men has been sighted.” His voice was still raw and hoarse, but he was talking.

Jacob turned his head towards his advisor, Anwir, a man not much older than the king himself, and inquired, “How long until they arrive, did you say?”

Anwir opened his mouth and answered, “Your soldier said an estimated ‘four days, or seven days perhaps.’ He couldn’t be absolutely certain, My King.”

King Jacob gave a nod. “Well then. It shall be Emil’s duty to lead an army of his choosing,” he said as he cast his second son a meaningful glance, and the heart of the eldest of the Ace siblings gave a painful jolt.

Hal looked towards his little brother, and when Emil held his gaze, he gave a small tilt of his head as he asked, “When do you leave?”

“Come sunrise. We’ll meet them in the middle.” His voice was gentle; it accentuated his youth well.

For a moment Hal remained silent, just looked at his little brother. But the second he opened his mouth to speak he could see Emil raised his chin slightly in stubborn defiance, but he pushed through. “Emil, you need not do this. These battles, these feuds, there’s nothing valuable to gain from them.” Not peace.

Yet, Hal knew partially what this would give his little brother.

Their father’s pride, his love and affection.

But to what end?

Still, Hal tried – he always tried – as he gave a shake of his head, held his little brother’s eye, wishing, praying for his brother to hear him now, hear his words and the meaning behind them, read between the lines. But Hal knew better than this. His little brother may have listened, but not in the way that mattered; with the intent to understand. Emil wasn’t really hearing him.

“Don’t fight. These battles aren’t yours to do so. You need not do this.”

“Enough!” King Jacob boomed then, and Hal looked at his father. “You’ve heard what you were summoned to hear. Leave.”

As the king looked at him with those eyes, Hal inhaled sharply and gave an equally as sharp nod, looked up at the high ceiling, swallowed as he nodded some more.

He looked back at Jacob then, licked his rose red lips. “Hm.”

For a short moment he looked at Emil, back to Jacob, then his brother before he stopped at the king. 

Only then did he turn his head away, tilted it to the left slightly for a moment before a gave a final nod, and turned around and walked down the grand, deep red coloured carpet.

The men at each side of the door opened them and he walked through. 

He could hear the doors close behind him as he walked down the hallways.

His heart gave a non-stop jolt of pain, and there was a lump in his throat.

Emil would die.

He inhaled deeply.


	5. Chapter 4

The Poindexter’s tavern was filled with men, day and night, at any time of day except when it was closed. Today wasn’t any different, nothing but the current topic of conversation Beck was having with her older brother Wade, Aunt Tara and William.

“What do you think King Jacob wanted with Hal today?” Wade asked from his place behind the bar. He was experimenting with a plethora of ingredients to make ales with different tastes.

William offered nothing but a shrug from his seat at the bar, while Beck heaved a sigh from beside her older brother. “I can’t help but think of our conversation with him this morning,” she informed her company. 

“Yeah, me too,” Wade agreed.

Beck looked at him. “I wonder what the meaning behind his words could have been.”

At this, William looked up at the siblings opposite him. “What did Prince Hal say?”

From the corner of the soldier’s eye, he watched Wade mix ingredient after ingredient, something that would inevitable become ale with a new flavour never tasted before. Wade had a certain creativity and expertise regarding ale, a gift, a talent, and William was never disappointed.

What was disappointing however, Wade was never really praised nor appreciated for his work. No one had ever truly been grateful for the variety of flavours in ale the co-owner invented, not enough to properly thank the man, praise him – both which the younger man was completely humble and shy about, often brushing such a compliment off because Wade didn’t know how to handle compliments, especially for something he truly enjoyed doing such as that.

William himself, Beck, Aunt Tara, and Prince Hal never failed to bathe their friend in well-deserved praises and compliments though.

Beck secretly adored when William addressed their friend by his title Prince Hal, never just his name Hal. The man seemed intent that their relationship be kept professional, but that was in the public eye. What she wondered; did the black-haired man call the black-haired prince by his own name when they were alone? When they trained perhaps.

Wade never stopped his mixing as he said, absentmindedly, “It was of King Jacob. Something about what he’d done.”

“Anything else?”

“No.” Wade shook his head before he finished a drink and handed it over to William. “Here. Try this. What do you think?”

Beck watched as the older of them three took a sip of the newly invented ale, and two eyebrows were raised in apparent approval as William nodded. “You never cease to astound me, Wade!” The man, with the glass in that same hand, pointed at her older brother. “This one—no, all your mixed ales should be in the royal household, on their menu, on their table, where the royal family drink your ales. They’re that good.”

“Oi!” the sudden shout of a man was heard, and the three simultaneously turned their heads in that direction.

It was one of their regulars, a well-known drunk. 

“Sir William, I agree indeed.” Karl’s words were slurred as he swayed unsteadily on his feet a few tables away, but despite the slight distance between them, they heard perfectly; the old man was loud. “These are the best ales I have ever had! You should ask Prince Hal to include them on—on, you know, what Sir William said.”

But Wade made a face as he squirmed uncomfortably. “Ah, I don’t know,” he said slowly.

Karl wasn’t deterred, however. “You would become famous for certain!” This was said, loudly, with spread arms. Ale spilled over the drunk’s wooden jug and onto the floor.

Still, Wade didn’t agree. Instead he smiled, uncomfortable and tense as he shook his head. “No. I, uh, I don’t want to... I wouldn’t want to seem as if I’m taking advantage of him, you know?” He shrugged as he splayed his palms on the bar. “What with his title and all. No.” 

Beck looked up at him, as he was way taller than her. “You know as well as I do that Hal would love the idea.”

Wade only shrugged and looked down at the bar. “It wouldn’t feel right is all.”

Beck let it go then because she understood. She and her brother were mere commoners and Hal the Prince of Westhaven. They didn’t ever want to use Hal or make him feel like they were doing so.

“But—”

“Karl!” Aunt Tara cut the drunken fool off as she stopped cleaning the vacant tables. 

She too understood what her niece and nephew were on about and wanted to prevent the inevitable low mood they would be in if the old man continued pestering them about the subject.

“Why don’t you go home?” she suggested. “I think you’ve had your fill for the day already.”

Karl turned to her then, but his drunken ineptness only made more ale spill over the rim of the jug he carried in his hand. “Leave? Are you insane, woman?” he asked in disbelief, though not rudely, Aunt Tara knew.

Fisted hands on hips, she asked the man rhetorically, “Do you have the coins for any more ale, Karl? What of all you’ve drunk already?”

Karl was quick to stand taller – and almost lost his footing along the way – as he dramatically exclaimed, “Pfft, of course I do! What do you take me—” he hiccupped. “—for, woman?”

She simply pointed a finger – rag in that same hand – at the doors of the tavern and said, “Leave. And don’t come back until you’re sober.”

“But—”

Aunt Tara shook her head. “No. Leave.”

Karl slouched his shoulders in defeat, turned and went to make his way to the doors—

“Karl,” Aunt Tara warned, her voice stern, and the man turned back to look at her hopefully. “Leave the jug.”

His hopes crushed, the man protested, “But—but the ale!” He even held up the jug and showed it to her.

“Leave it.” She held out a hand expectantly.

With a defeated sigh, Karl handed her the jug of ale. Then the old man stomped, much like a child during an anger-induced tantrum would, across the tavern before he left, the doors closing shut behind the man.

Aunt Tara huffed in exasperated amusement before she looked to her family and William, and all three of them stared back at her. All of them had a natural, indifferent expression on their faces, but she knew it was coming.

Besides the rest of the occupants of the tavern, who was too into worlds of their own, it was silent, just for a moment.

Then Wade burst out laughing, red in the face from holding it all in. He doubled over at the waist, a hand to his side, and the other slapped the bar as he wheezed in laughter, gasps escaping in between.

Beck too was laughing in jollity, albeit it was that quiet laugh that couldn’t be heard as the occasional gasp of breath was let out before it happened all over again. Her eyes were filled with tears of unadulterated joy.

William and Aunt Tara shared a mutual look of amusement as they smiled before they both looked back at the two youngest of the four. They cherished the moment of elation.

Long moments passed until Wade finally found the strength and managed to stand straight again and leaned his side against the bar for support. He looked up at the ceiling and rubbed his teary eyes as he heaved and gasped for breath.

Beck panted as she wiped the tears from her face in vain as they kept falling from her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. She rubbed her aching jaw. “That man is hilarious. But now my jaw’s hurting,” she whined slightly, but the smile on her face showed her true happiness.

Wade put both palms on the bar and hung his head as he heaved a great sigh. “Ah... Karl always brings a good laugh.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Think the man will heed my advice? Take a nap and sober up.” Aunt Tara asked. She hoped he would, and perhaps he did, because where else would he get his daily dose of ale?

William sighed and shook his head in mirth. “Who knows with that man. But...”

“He’ll be back,” Wade finished for the soldier.

Aunt Tara shook her head at the truth of their words as she put the jug of ale on the bar, and Wade took to cleaning it.

Beck’s smile faltered slowly. She took a deep breath, hesitated, then tried for nonchalance – channelling her non-existent inner Hal – and said, “Or he wouldn’t, not if Hal told him off.”

She knew she failed when the others sobered up, suddenly serious.

“Despite Hal’s own excessive drinking, Karl has always listened to him,” she said, followed by a shrug.

“Yeah.” Wade sighed.

“They all do.” William gave a nod to all the drunken men in the tavern.

“God, knows why,” Aunt Tara joked, but they all knew it was true.

“Ah. There’s just something about him,” William mused thoughtfully. “Ever since I met him, I knew he was different. Haven’t a clue what it is. Never figured it out.”

Then they were quiet again.

“Maybe—do you think—it must be bad,” Beck broke the silence, but stumbled over her words.

Wade’s head snapped up from what he was doing to look at her. “Huh?”

Three pairs of eyes looked at her.

“Well, Hal said King Jacob had done something. ‘I’ll never be able to change what he’s done,’ he said. This morning.”

William rose an eyebrow. “In those words?”

Beck gave a nod. “Yes.”

“But what could King Jacob have done that was so bad it caused this... strain between them?” Wade asked.

A heavy sigh escaped Beck as she shook her head. “I don’t know, Wade...”

“It must have been really bad then,” Aunt Tara decided. “For the strain you’re speaking of Wade, years ago, that grew and grew until it became something much bigger than we know.”

“What do you mean?”

Aunt Tara met Wade’s gaze. “The strain between our Hal and King Jacob has always been there. But now... it’s something much worse.”

Beck caught something in the way her aunt spoke. There was a hint there.

She thought about it for a moment... Then she gasped and looked at them. “King Jacob is Hal’s father!” she exclaimed.

William’s puzzlement slowly turned into the understanding Beck’s older brother lacked.

“...Uh, yes...” Wade drawled. “Everyone knows this.”

Beck could only roll her eyes at him.

Even Aunt Tara sighed at her nephew. “But why? There must be a relationship for there to be a strain between them,” she pointed out as her eyes moved between her company. “King Jacob, Prince Hal. Father and son.” 

Beck continued, “And like all relationships, someone that’s not part of it won’t know everything about it. But Hal and his father are royalty. So, there would be even more someone not part of that relationship wouldn’t know about their relationship.”

“Oh...” Wade understood now.

“I think people tend to forget that King Jacob and Prince Hal are not just royalty but actual people too. Like us,” William said.

“We aren’t just any people though. Not like the drunken men in here. Not like the world. But us. How could we forget? I mean, did we even think of it? Like ever?” Wade asked, a tone of self-loathing coating his voice just then. If anyone in the whole world was supposed to think of Hal as a person, and not just as the crown prince and their future king, it was them.

And okay, they showed concern, acted very much like friends do, but for them not to remember King Jacob was Hal’s father and that they had a very troubling father-and-son relationship was absurd. Absolutely ridiculous.

“What friends we are,” Beck muttered, beyond disappointed in herself.

She shook her head before she picked up a bucket near her and left out the tavern doors.

Aunt Tara resumed her cleaning. It astounded her really that her niece and nephew hadn’t ever thought of this before now. She knew William had already; that man had been by Hal’s side since the heir was a mere child. He probably knew more about the prince than any of them did.

William took a gulp of his water that had been sitting there throughout their conversation.

The older woman was indeed right; William thought of Hal’s well-being every day. Hal’s complicated relationship with his father, the weight on the prince’s shoulders that none knew of. Anything about Hal he thought of really, anything that may be of harm to the young man. He was always worrying about his young friend.

Wade resumed mixing his ales. He did see Hal as a person, yet he never gave his friend’s problematic relationship with his own father a thought. A thought, not a second thought.

Apparently, Wade saw Hal as less than a person than he thought. No wonder Hal was as closed off as he was. There were probably other reasons for that too, but still. Either way, he had partially contributed to it.


	6. Chapter 5

As she waited for the water in the well to fill her bucket with water, she let her eyes wander. 

Fellow villagers worked and bustled along the narrow streets of the Bloom Village, the only village in the kingdom of Westhaven that lay inside the outer castle walls. She felt very fortunate she was one of the few thousand people to live inside the castle walls. It was very much a privilege. 

It was also very beautiful, despite the slight filthiness of it, she supposed. But at least it wasn’t as bad as in the villages outside the castle walls. Beck wished the conditions of all the villages would be improved however, but she supposed King Jacob couldn’t do everything at once. At least their king was protecting them all, what with all the battles the man has had to fight over the past two decades. 

Once the bucket was full, Beck pulled at the rope with both hands, lifting the bucket higher and higher until it was in her grasp. Then she untied the rope from the bucket, and carried it back to the tavern, careful to avoid spilling any of the water. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste. 

Just then she happened to glance up from the ground to see where she was walking, and there he was, the subject of her previous conversation; Hal. 

Her brows furrowed as she stopped in the middle of the street. 

He seemed to be in a hurry as he walked among the commoners, all who stood out of His Highness’ way. Hal was taking the route to his home which meant he’d probably just left the council meeting with King Jacob. 

His father. 

Beck thought he might be upset which might not have been too farfetched considering Hal hadn’t been keen to make an appearance at the council meeting – he never had been – and now he was in a hurry home. So, though she was curious herself, she thought it best if her aunt talked to him instead. 

... 

Poindexter’s tavern, the sign above the doors read. 

Such a lovely sight. 

She pushed the doors open, walked in, put the bucket down on the ground behind the bar before she looked around the tavern, blue eyes searching, but there was no sign of her aunt. 

“Wade?” 

He looked at her. “Yeah?” 

“Where’s Aunt Tara?” 

“Oh, uh, storage room in the back,” he replied. 

Her brows furrowed. “What for?” 

Wade gave her a look. “Richard.” 

Beck sighed with a shake of his head at the mention of the old man. “Thank you, big brother.” 

Then she walked away, and Wade went back to work with a similar shake of his head as his sister and a mumbled, “You’re welcome, little sister.” 

... 

She found her aunt putting away only one of many broken stools. 

“Richard again?” 

Aunt Tara only scoffed. “Yes. And now...” she sighed as she put down the last wooden piece – a stools leg – before she turned to look at her niece. “...we have no more to replace the ones that man breaks.” 

“We need new ones,” Beck claimed. 

“We need new ones,” her aunt confirmed, and gave a nod of her head. 

“Maybe... maybe we should have a stool specially made for him?” Beck suggested. 

Aunt Tara thought about it. “Maybe,” she agreed. “Wade could make one, possibly.” 

Beck nodded enthusiastically then. “That’s great! How come we never thought of this before?” 

The older woman huffed. “God, I don’t know, Beck dear.” Aunt Tara shook her head. “I don’t know.” 

It was quiet for a moment. Then the aunt looked at her niece, and she suddenly remembered... “Did you want something, Beck?” 

Beck’s head snapped back to look at her aunt, and for a moment she just stared at the older woman blankly. 

“Right!” Beck exclaimed suddenly. “Of course. How could I forget? Excuse me, Aunt Tara. I saw Hal when I went to get water, and he seemed upset, maybe, he might have been, I’m not sure. But I thought I’d tell you and you could...” 

“I will see to him.” 

Beck smiled gratefully at her aunt then. “Thank you, Aunt Tara.” 

... 

Knuckles knocked on the wooden door of the small home. 

Footsteps could be heard nearing. 

Then the door opened, and there Prince Hal stood, clad in black shoes, black trousers, a black and navy-blue doublet beneath a black coat. 

That doublet, Aunt Tara knew, was considered ugly in the royal household, but among the commoners, they saw that as a fine piece of clothing, something expensive they would never have the coins to buy. 

“Prince Hal,” Aunt Tara greeted him properly, just as she should. “Can I come in, please?” 

“I was—” he stopped himself suddenly, which sparked a pinch of curiosity in her, but she didn’t ask. Then he inhaled sharply. “Never mind,” he murmured and opened the door further and stepped aside. “Come inside, please.” 

Polite as always, Tara thought as she stepped through the door. She could hear as Hal closed the door behind her. 

He walked around her and sat on a stool before the burning fire and gestured for her to do the same. “Please, sit.” 

Tara did so and sat down on the stool to his left. Her hands rested in her lap while Hal preferred, in this moment, to rest his elbows on his thighs, his long fingers entwined. 

Though she couldn’t see the scar beside Hal’s nose and beneath his left eye, covered by his black locks of hair, the golden ring on his left pinkie reminded her of its presence. 

She could feel the warmth the fire radiated. 

There was a moment of silence as they sat there together, looking into the flames. Eventually Hal was the one to break it, “Why did you come?” 

She inhaled slowly, quietly before she looked at him, but he didn’t look back at her, seemingly intent on looking into the crackling fire. 

“My niece and nephew told me that you have finally attended a council meeting,” she informed him. 

Tara watched as he nodded, the movement barely even there before he turned his head to her and met her gaze. “So, you decided to check up on me?” Hal asked, tone soft, gentle, voice assuming but his emerald eyes, they were knowing. 

He knew already, but she gave an answer anyway, “Yes.”

Hal looked at her for a moment, eyes unmoving but searching, intense before he hummed, “Hm.” Then he turned back to look at the orange flames dancing in the fireplace. 

“Do you wish to tell me?” 

“All is well.” 

Though he looked so, and seemed to be his normal self, Tara felt it was the opposite, but she didn’t press. Instead she asked, “Did it go well at the council meeting then?” 

Hal sighed, she could see it, but never hear it. 

It seemed outside the tavern when he wasn’t drinking himself foolish, the prince seemed to be a generally silent person. Which made her wonder; if this was the case, then why did he find joy in the loudness of such a place as the tavern? 

Maybe he did simply enjoy it, or maybe there was something else... Either way, she wouldn’t know. 

“Hm...” 

And that was another thing; he hummed but was always silent about it, but still just loud enough for the person he happened to speak to, to hear him. 

“...King Jacob disinherited me, and thus, the weight of millions of people part of the biggest kingdom of the four kingdoms has befallen my little brother.” 

Hal twisted his beloved ring around his pinkie. 

“Prince Emil?” Tara asked. 

“Hm,” Hal confirmed, accompanied with a nod. “My little brother, much like King Jacob—” 

He didn’t call the king his father, hadn’t ever since she met the prince beside her as far as she knew. Why? 

“—should care for more than just their own people. Emil should care for the people of our fellow three kingdoms. He doesn’t. And that is the mistake of all kings.” 

Tara felt a warmth in her heart as she listened to him speak. Did that mean...? 

“But not yours?” 

Hal turned his head to look at her then and gave a shake of his head, black locks of hair falling down his forehead, but that didn’t seem to bother him. “No.” 

A blunt and sincere answer, it was, and the way he said it, as if it should have been obvious that was his opinion and she need not have asked such an absurd question. But all that mattered; he cared for not just this kingdom but for them all. 

Westhaven. Eastland. Southblues. But what of Northenwinter? 

“Even the kingdom of Northenwinter?” 

“Yes.” 

Tara looked at him, unsure. “But... Your father’s enemy.” 

Hal was shaking his head before she even finished speaking. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “But whether I care or not matters not, now does it? I won’t be your king,” he continued as he turned back to look at the flames again. “I worry for this kingdom. For the four kingdoms.” 

Her brows furrowed then. “Because Prince Emil is to be our new king?” 

“Hm, Emil is not yet ready for such responsibility. He might never be, even. Not many ever are, not really. But my little brother least of all.” 

“And you think this, why?” 

“I don’t think. I know.” 

“But how?” Tara pressed. 

“’Even though he has yet to finish his education, he is young and eager for the duty this position presents. Thus, he is ready enough,’ King Jacob said.” 

Tara knew this was a perfect repetition of King Jacob’s words from the council meeting earlier that day, she was sure of it. Such a remarkable memory the young man beside her had. Remembered word for word what his father had said. 

“A finished education – academic and practical – is when the sons of the king are allowed to participate in battle; it’s a mandatory rule all of the four kingdoms follow,” he informed her. 

“Not before?” 

Hal shook his head. “It’s only when our education is finished that we’re considered... mature enough. And yet Emil is leaving for battle come sunrise.” 

Tara’s lips twisted in confusion. “Then how come you...” she trailed off, but she understood. 

She was simply finding the thought too difficult to even consider to be the truth, because the prince beside her couldn’t have possibly been thought mature enough to join grown men in battle at ten years-of-age? 

But Hal simply looked back into the fire and repeated a phrase long since memorised, “So the law states; once appropriate training is deemed finished, the prince may be eligible for war. Age is not the crucial factor.” 

Tara had nothing she could say to that. She, like every commoner, didn’t have any say on the matter of such a subject as this. But she was deeply against it either way. 

“...Then there is the matter of my brother’s impulsiveness. His softness. His naivety. How he yearns for King Jacob’s affections and pride,” Hal said after a moments silence. 

“For a father’s affections and pride, you mean?” 

“...Yes,” Hal agreed as the word left his rose-coloured lips in a soft voice. 

There it was, something about his tone she didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. And she knew then that Hal was still, in some ways, just a stranger of a friend she barely knew anything personal about. 

“Do you think you would be a better king for the throne than Prince Emil?” she asked then, because she knew one of two things would happen if she pressed on the issue of his father; he would either end the conversation, or close himself off further. She would rather not risk the latter. 

But only after she asked this question did Tara realise; she had never, ever since she met the crown prince beside her, asked him what he thought of one day becoming their king. 

For years she had seen Hal as the rebellious prince who refused to do his duty out of irresponsibility, favouring to spend his time at the tavern, clowning, drinking himself foolish until he temporarily lost the grace and elegance he possessed otherwise. And so, he was enabled a drunkard. 

If Tara thought back even further, this behaviour seemed to have really began, little by little, after his facial injury in the Battle of Arrowheads. He had only been sixteen-years-old back then. 

It didn’t matter she hadn’t known him – much less met him – at the time. She heard the rumours. 

Maybe, like many suspected, the injury caused him mental damage. It would certainty explain his tremendous transition from the dutiful prince that he used to be to the one he was now, clowning and all. And maybe his first love leaving only worsened this. 

“Perhaps... All I know is that I have the preparedness for the title of sovereignty unlike my brother. It’s what I’ve been groomed for. The only purpose I’ve ever known.”


	7. Chapter 6

Blue eyes peeked out from behind the entrance of the stables as the fifteen-year-old watched his older brother pet his white, majestic horse. 

“Hey, Gatlin,” Hal said as his hand stroked said horse’s neck. 

Gatlin pawed at the ground, rubbed his head against his brother’s cheek, and he could see Gatlin’s tail; it was relaxed. 

-Only nine-years-old, Jonas looked up at his fifteen-year-old brother. “Can Gatlin feel love? Like us.” 

Hal looked away from his horse and down at him. Then he crouched down to Jonas height, and smiled at him. “Of course, he can.” 

“To other horses?” 

“Yes. But also, to people. In the same way we get attached to horses. It’s all about love and trust, little brother.” 

Jonas looked back across the green field at the white horse. 

There was nobody here but he, Hal, and Gatlin. And like every other time he had the chance, he fully cherished his time spent with the oldest of his siblings. 

He looked back at Hal. “But, how do you know? He’s...” he hesitated but decided to ask, because his older brother never became angry at him nor anyone else really. “...he’s a horse, and father says horses only exists for us to use however we want to.” 

Hal looked at him then, with a sudden look in his eye Jonas didn’t understand, and it worried him. Not for long though, because then Hal rested a hand on his shoulder, looked at him for a short moment before he sighed with a shake of his head. “That’s not true. Remember; horses have feelings, just like we do. Thus, they should be shown kindness. They should be treated well – and if treated so, you treat them with respect. And if we treat them like so, they will treat us the same in return, make sense?” 

...That did made sense. So, Jonas agreed, “Yes.”

“I mean... do you really believe horses likes having a person on their back?” 

Jonas pursed his lips in uncertainty as he contemplated. 

“Think like this...” Hal said then, and Jonas listened eagerly. “...Hm. If we were a horse, would we like a human sitting on our back? Kicking us in the side to make us move. Control where we walk by pulling the reins, therefore pulling our face wherever which way.” 

Jonas winced. That didn’t sound pleasant. Not at all. 

Hal nodded approvingly at the face Jonas made. “Listen to me – and this may sound preposterous but... think from the horse’s perspective. That’s the closest you’re going to get to understanding a horse; thinking like a horse.” 

Slowly, Jonas nodded in understanding. “...I wouldn’t like Gatlin sitting on my back either.” 

A burst of laughter erupted from Hal at that, and Jonas smiled. “...Nor would I want you to do it either.” 

Hal nodded at him as his brief laughing fit came to an end. “Good, good...” 

Just then Jonas perked up in excitement as he looked at his older brother and very suddenly enthusiastically exclaimed, “You and Gatlin!” 

Hal’s brows raised. “Hm?” 

“You and Gatlin. I’ve seen people be rude to horses. Harsh even. When they pull the reins and kick their sides, I mean... Whipping them too! And I think it scares... the horses? Hurts them. They say they must do it – the people. Is that true? I mean, like, do they need to... scare them... sometimes?” And hurt them, but Jonas couldn’t say it. Couldn’t even think of harming another living being. 

But his older brother seemed to hear what he didn’t say too, because Hal shook his head and said, “No. You never need to hurt a horse. You never need to scare them. What does that achieve?” 

Jonas hesitated, “I... If a horse does wrong, you hurt them to teach them not to do that anymore.”

“Anything to do with horses, you must think like a horse,” Hal reminded him then. “Would you like to be treated that way?” 

“No!” 

Hal gave him a nod. “Then, there you have your answer. I mean, have you ever seen me hurt Gatlin? Even when he did something I didn’t like?” 

Jonas shook his head. He couldn’t remember such a thing, because it had never happened. 

“Know what I did? I corrected him. And with repetition, Gatlin learned, hm. So, if you repeatedly beat a horse, what does the horse learn?” 

“...He comes to expect pain.” 

“With repetition the horse comes to expect pain,” Hal confirmed. “It also teaches the horse to fear their owner. All people really.” 

Jonas's brows furrowed in concentration as he thought. “Treating a horse well is treating them with respect, you said. Hurting a horse is treating them badly and treating them badly is disrespecting them, right?” 

Hal nodded at him. “Hm... A horse is the reflection of their owner.” 

Jonas squinted at his older brother. “What does that mean?” 

“If the person doesn’t respect the horse, the horse doesn’t respect you. And if the owner isn’t respecting their horse the horse doesn’t learn to respect them.” 

Jonas nodded slowly. 

“It’s like with people,” Hal said then. “We learn from our mothers, and we learn from our fathers and teachers. But horses, they learn the way of horses from other horses. But it is the people that teach a horse how to ride with us on their backs. It is us that teach them to understand what we want them to do with a gesture.” 

“Like you teach Gatlin.” 

“Hm, precisely. I trained Gatlin for years through patience, correction, repetition, but never did I hurt him, because there is no need for pain, and I didn’t want to teach him to fear me,” Hal told him. “I wanted us to work together... to be a team. And so, my only friend is a horse.” 

Jonas smiled at that. 

“But I don’t mind. Because I know the friendship Gatlin and I have, that love, trust, I will never find that in someone else.” 

“How can you be sure?” 

Hal smiled. “I just know. Just like I know the friendship between Gatlin, and I has been built from nothing to this since the beginning of his life. And it will only grow stronger from here. No one can ever surpass the place Gatlin has in my heart.” 

Then they both looked at Gatlin across the field, and for a moment it was silent. 

“Why does people hurt their horses then?” Jonas broke the silence then, voice quiet. He turned his head to look at his older brother by his side, but the older prince still looked at Gatlin. 

“It’s either one of two people,” Hal answered. “Either they enjoy hurting their horse or it’s simply a lack of understanding the species.” 

“But how do you understand them? What they like. What they hate. When they’re happy. When they’re not.” 

Hal turned his head to look at him then, held out a hand and asked, “Why don’t I show you?” 

Jonas smiled brightly and took his brother’s hand-

“Jonas?” a voice broke through the fifteen-year-old’s moment of reminiscing and made his head turn in the direction of the voice. 

It was his twenty-one-year-old brother. 

Only then did Jonas realise he was still partially hidden behind the wall. Not his head though; it was still peeking out from behind it. 

He could feel his cheeks warming then, and he was surely blushing bright red from the embarrassment of his current position. 

Did Hal think he was being spied upon by his own little brother now? But this thought only worsened the warmth in Jonas's cheeks, and most certainly made the redness in his face even brighter in response. 

Shyly, Jonas stepped out from behind the wall and moved closer to his older brother. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting, little brother?” Hal asked. 

Jonas was indeed, so he was just grateful for his older brother’s thoughtfulness not to mention the reason behind it, because he was tired of hearing everyone harping on about his weak immune system. 

He threw a glance over his shoulder, but there were no workers that he could see, so he looked back at Hal. “I guess,” he replied quietly. “But I saw you walk here through my window. I wanted to see you off before you leave... to wherever it is you’re going,” he mumbled the last part at an even lower octave than the rest of his explanation, but still, it couldn’t have been silent enough because Hal released an amused chuckle at his expense. 

Subconsciously, Jonas looked down at the ground below his feet, even though the chuckle wasn’t a rude one. Jonas knew that it wasn’t. He knew this. It never was with his oldest brother. 

Hal wasn’t a rude person. 

Still, Jonas had always been an incredibly shy and self-conscious person. So unsure of himself. And Hal, the one person closest to the youngest Ace brother, the one who meant the most to the fifteen-year-old knew this, which made the appearance of his older brother’s hand in his short brown hair a comfort Jonas had sought, unaware, for in the ground. 

The love and affection the oldest Ace brother felt for the younger was conveyed in the touch, and Jonas could feel it, which made it that more comforting. 

What Jonas didn’t know however; the action wasn’t just a way to convey Hal’s love for him nor to just bring him comfort. It was also a way to focus Hal's attention on anything but the aching pain in his bloodstream as much as it was a way to avoid clutching at his chest above his heart, the heart that felt as if it was being torn apart. 

Now, unknown to the world, Hal could lie and portray himself however he wished with an ease that couldn’t be taught nor practiced. With the use of Hal’s exceptional ability to use his surroundings to his advantage and anything around him as a weapon, it made it all that much easier. Thus, the action Hal made by reaching for his brother was logical for all of two reasons; firstly, it conveyed comfort, love and affection, three things which Jonas needed, and secondly, it concealed the everlasting pain and misery Hal suffered inside. 

“Hm... I’m taking Gatlin for a ride. He deserves a more non-violent sense of scenery after the woeful ambience he’s had to endure as of most recently.” 

Jonas nodded as they remained silent for just a moment until the younger of the two brothers mumbled, “I missed you.” 

The pain in Hal’s heart hadn’t stopped, but to him it felt like his heart skipped a beat, then the beat after that returned with a renewed pain, sharp and twisting inside his ribcage. It hurt, much more than before. Brutal. Relentless. It burned. 

Hal tightly clenched his right hand, the same hand his nails had dug into earlier that same day, which caused the crescent moon indents on his palm – wounds more like – to sting. That right arm had the reins of his horse hanging over it loosely, and it was that same arm Gatlin nudged. Hal uncurled his fist in response which left behind a pulsing, stinging pain in his hand, but he still gave his beautiful, very much beloved white horse a pet on the side of his neck. 

Simultaneously, he moved his other hand to the back of his little brother’s head and pulled him close. 

Jonas wrapped both of his own arms around Hal’s middle, hold tight but Hal didn’t complain. Instead, into the top of the brown head of hair, he murmured quietly, “And I you, dear little brother.” 

“I feared I would never see you again,” Jonas mumbled into his shoulder then. 

Painfully, Hal’s heart contracted. 

He feared that too. 

Hal moved his left arm to rest over Jonas’s shoulders and steered both him and Gatlin out of the stables. “I’m very difficult for people to get rid of, I assure you, little brother.” 

There was a dash of amusement Hal felt as he said those words, because wasn’t that the understatement of the century. 

But his subsequent words were serious, words truthful and as reliable as the air he breathed. “Even more so for I must keep the vow I made to myself every time I was given a new brother and sister.” 

Jonas looked up at him from where he was buried in Hal’s side. “What was it?” 

They walked through the inner gatehouse, over the drawbridge and then they continued down the narrow streets of the Bloom Village. The people respectfully parted for the first – second now? – and sixth in line of succession. 

Hal’s arm never left his brother’s shoulders. He was all too aware of the insecurities which possessed Jonas’s still very young mind. It didn’t help that people saw weakness in a weak immune system and a person prone to illness, both qualities of which his little brother possessed. 

“’I shall protect you, little brother, until the day I die. Shall I leave for battle, I’ll do the same for myself because there is no other way out other than back home to you.’” 

Eight times he’d said this, and one time he’d failed. 

He wouldn’t do so a second time if he could help it and protecting his little brothers and sisters, Prince Hal of Westhaven was notorious for. 

Oh, he who wishes ill will towards the little Ace siblings would have to go through their older brother first. 

“Really?” Jonas’s eyes widened. 

“Hm, yes.” 

“Can you promise now too?” 

Hal turned his head and met his brother’s blue-eyed gaze, and oh, how he wished they wouldn’t keep reminding him of a similar pair but older. Eyes of King Jacob that looked down upon him with that vile, abhorrent, barbarous, detestable look in them. Always on him. Imperfections was all the king saw. 

He discarded the thought to grab Jonas’s hand with his own over his brother’s shoulder. Then he proceeded to interlock their pinkie’s and promised, “I vow to you, my brother, and to our supplementary brothers and sisters that I shall always come back home to you.” 

At that Jonas smiled brightly and didn’t let go of Hal’s hand as they walked in silence. 

But then Jonas was the one to break it when he quietly asked, “What’s it like?” 

“Hm?” 

“Fighting in battle.” 

They were nearing the outer gatehouse. 

Jonas must be stalling with that question because he didn’t want to leave Hal’s side, or it could be simple curiosity. Perhaps a bit of both. 

Nevertheless, Hal came to a slow stop, and wished just then that his little brother wasn’t so oblivious and naïve as to ask such a question. Any man who has been in battle and didn’t like it would have thought Jonas disrespectful, but Hal knew better. 

This was a futile attempt at prolonging the inevitable, and it just so happened that Jonas was that naïve, filled with the curiosity of a child. So, though Hal had been part of nineteen battles already and hated the entirety of it all, he knew this was simply an innocent question from his brother’s perspective. 

It was also that innocent obliviousness that he wished wasn’t there in all his little siblings when it came to the oldest living Ace family member. But simultaneously he was glad for it, because it was the only thing that kept his brothers and sisters from seeing the truly horrible man their father truly was. 

Then his emerald eyes connected with the grey ones of Betsy, a woman in her late sixties, who had worked at the castle since before Hal was born. She was Jonas’s very own maidservant and had been so since his little brother was born. 

Jonas had yet to see the old woman, but she was waiting. She knew Jonas well, otherwise she wouldn’t have known to find him with his older brother. 

Hal gave her a nod, and she gave one in return. 

Betsy stood a fair bit of distance away from the two princes as she watched Prince Hal remove his arm from Prince Jonas’s shoulders. Prince Hal bent down to his little brother’s height with one hand on each side of the younger prince’s neck. 

She smiled fondly at them, the two people she loved most in this world. 

She knew he had been disinherited; Prince Jonas had told her. But Prince Hal would always be her future king, and he was perfect for the throne. 

Betsy may be old and a woman and a servant, but she knew Prince Hal was many things, all of which were all good. A person with a heart of gold. He was talented and intelligent. 

He was full of compassion, empathy, love, kindness. All hidden but still there. 

Betsy believed the young crown prince must have a reason for hiding those attributes of his, hiding who he truly was. But she believed Prince Hal would grow out of his current ways one day; his time spent in the tavern, drinking, clowning and all. 

Hal decided not to ask why Jonas wanted to know the answer to such a question, which would only be assisting his little brother in prolonging Hal’s temporary departure. Instead he answered, “It’s... wrong. It’s all wrong. I don’t like it.” 

Now that Hal knew Jonas could understand, and he could guess what was running through the fifteen-year-old’s mind in that moment. 

Who likes killing? 

Hal did have an answer for that too, but he quickly discarded the thought because now he had an opportunity. 

Jonas didn’t say anything in response to his answer. 

“Better get some rest now, no?” he asked. 

Jonas nodded. 

Hal gave him a look. “Will you? Truly.” 

“It’s boring, Hal. I wish I wasn’t—” Jonas cut himself off, his blue eyes tearing up suddenly. 

“Hm?” 

“I don’t want to be like this anymore. I recover but then I’m sick again,” Jonas said, voice cracking from the overwhelming emotions. 

Hal sighed quietly. He knew what was coming. It always went like this. 

“Hal? Was I really born this way?” 

-Jonas had only two days prior recovered from a fever, but now he had become ill again. He had a cold this time; the raw and hurting throat, the coughing and the running nose, as well as the nauseated feeling that always seemed to follow every time the four-year-old became sick. 

He never liked being alone in the dark at night, especially when he was sick. So, Jonas had implored Hal to read to him, but not in their native language. Never in the Western dialect. 

The four-year-old preferred when his ten-year-old brother read to him in their mother’s native tongue; the Eastern language. Even though he couldn’t understand a word, he still enjoyed the soft and gentle spoken voice Hal used. It always put him to sleep. 

But this certain evening, something was different.

Jonas was lost in thought, Hal’s voice a soothing background noise. 

“Jonas?” 

Startled, the four-year-old’s head snapped up from where it laid on Hal’s shoulder, and his bleary eyes met the concerned ones of his older brother. It was only then he realised Hal had stopped reading. 

“Hm?” Hal’s hand brushed Jonas’s hair from his forehead. 

“Was I really born this way?” 

Only then did the calming motion Hal’s fingers stop brushing through his little brother’s hair, and for a moment it remained so as they laid there in silence. 

This was the first time Jonas asked this, even though he had wanted to for some time now. 

He decided his oldest brother was the best source for answers, because Hal always had the answers to everything. This would be no different; he really believed that. 

“Hm... You were innate prone to illness,” Hal whispered then. 

“Why?” 

“Some just are. That’s the way it is.” 

Jonas sighed and further burrowed his head into his brother’s shoulder. 

“I know it saddens you as it saddens me to see you so,” Hal whispered after a moment. “But if there is one thing I know, little brother, it’s this; in this battle you fight, you shall never be alone because I will stand beside you. Always.” 

A smile began to quirk up the corners of Jonas’s lips as he turned his head and met his older brother’s gaze. “Forever?” he asked. “You promise?” 

Hal interlocked their pinkies. “I promise.” 

Jonas’s smile widened in giddy happiness as his heart warmed in an overwhelming amount of love. 

As the four-year-old closed his eyes, he listened as Hal resumed his reading. 

It wasn’t long before Hal watched as Jonas’s eyes drooped sleepily and didn’t open again as he fell asleep to the comforting feeling of a hand running through his hair. 

Just then, the ten-year-old heard the door creak open as light filtered into Jonas’s bedchambers, and there in the doorway his little siblings stood. 

Emil carried Ethel in his arms as Ethel held onto Emmett’s hand. Alisha held Alife and Eddie’s hands. 

They all looked at him, all of them with pleading eyes, and Hal didn’t have to ask. It wasn’t just Jonas that wanted a bedtime story. So, he sighed quietly and carefully put the book away before he stood and tucked his little brother in. 

Then he blew out the candle and followed his brothers and sisters out of the room and slowly, quietly closed the door behind him. 

Ethel reached for him then. He bent down and took the two-year-old from Emil’s arms before they walked on through the hallways to his bedchambers. The torches on the stone walls of the castle lightened up the otherwise darkened corridors. 

Like he did with Jonas, Hal did the same with the rest of his siblings; read them their book of choice and tucked them in once they fell asleep before he left the room. Then he walked the quiet hallways until he came upon the library. 

In the middle of the grand library stood a large table. It had his academic books laid out on it; each book opened on different pages which showed Hal’s progress. 

He cast the darkened sky outside the window a glance before he sat down in his seat and began studying. 

Hal had already finished his training with William earlier that day and come sunrise he had finished his academic education also. 

Had he known finishing his education meant he would participate in his first battle he might have not been as eager to finish it all that night. 

That had been the first time Jonas asked that question, but it certainly wasn’t the last-

“Hm...” Hal nodded. “But I pledge this to you, little brother; ‘in this battle you fight, you shall never be alone because I will stand beside you. Always.’” 

Just like the first time, Hal watched Jonas’s face light up with his smile before his brother asked, “Promise?” 

Hal and Jonas interlocked their pinkies before he looked his little brother in the eye. “I promise.” 

Then he grasped Jonas’s face in his hands. “Rest, yes?” 

Jonas gave a nod of his head. 

Hal gave one of his own in approval. “Good... Betsy will escort you.” His gaze flickered to the old maidservant and Jonas followed his gaze. “Be there time when I return, then I’ll visit you, hm.” 

“I love you, big brother,” Jonas mumbled with a shy smile on his face. 

Hal gave a tiny smile at that. He had to; it was his youngest brother. “Love you, dear brother.” 

Then he inhaled sharply, let his brother go and nodded to Betsy. “Go now.” 

As Jonas reached Betsy and they walked away together, Hal turned to Gatlin and gave her a few pats before he mounted.


	8. Chapter 7

Hal had long since passed through the thin part of the forest and was now in the dense part of The Darkened Grove. He dismounted Gatlin before he cast a look around the dark.

Because he couldn’t possibly depend on his sight, he listened. There was nothing he could hear that was cause for concern.

It wasn’t a surprise really. No one ever entered this part of The Darkened Grove, and Hal could understand because the forest did live up to its name; like a winter night, it was completely black. There was nothing that provided him with the light he needed to see, except for the light torch in his hand.

For many centuries people had wandered into The Darkened Grove, gotten lost, and never found their way out. It went on like so until decades ago when people gave up trying and ever since no one dared to do so again.

In that one spot, he pushed his way through the twigs and bushes until a light peeked through it all. Hal knew he was close now.

Push, shove, and so on until he broke through finally and he was standing in the familiar trivial space in the middle of the dense forest.

Compared to the rest of The Darkened Grove this was as light as day, the sun shining into this tiny space of greenery. There was a small waterfall to his right and a tiny hut to his left, the roof covered with vegetation.

After he let Gatlin loose to roam free, Hal neared the hut and knocked on the door before he let his hand fall to his side as he waited patiently for the seventy-four-year-old man inside.

“Don’t fear, young one. It’s the man you seek,” he heard Charlton say.

His brows furrowed.

A chair scraped against the wooden floors.

Hal turned his head and looked at the short, narrow path he’d walked so many times before.

He and Charlton always walked the exact same path, not a step out of place.

Footsteps neared the door.

Only then, as his eyes searched, did he notice it; the small foot imprints, like those of a child.

The footsteps stopped, the door opened, and in the doorway stood the man he sought.

The child never replied to Charlton.

Nothing seemed amiss in the old man’s behaviour, and Hal knew there was no need for him to worry a betrayal was about to be committed against him.

Hal remained calm with his hands clasped behind his back as he raised a brow at Charlton. “Company, have you?”

“Yes.” 

“And would I be correct to presume it’s that of a child?”

“You would.”

Hal gave the old man a nod. “Hm.”

“In fact,” Charlton said. “He seeks for you, Your Highness.” A boy.

Now that was interesting.

When was the last time someone sought for him, the prince of Westhaven? And no, King Jacob’s men didn’t count.

“Is that so?”

Charlton gave him a nod. “The boy does not speak, however. But there is a letter in his possession addressed to one Prince Hal of Westhaven,” the older man informed the aforementioned prince.

A letter written by who? 

Only the royal families of the four kingdoms were allowed an education, therefore none but the royals knew how to write.

“Do you know anything else?”

“I’m afraid not. The boy... he claims it’s only for you to read, Your Highness.”

Hal nodded thoughtfully. “Hm.”

“Do come in, Hal.” Charlton stepped aside and watched as the first-born of the Ace siblings crossed the threshold before he closed the door.

Emerald met the blue-grey irises of a boy, who was seated at the table. 

Those eyes reminded him—

“Here.” Charlton appeared at Hal’s side suddenly as the old man gestured to the vacant seat opposite the child.

Hal obliged and took a seat, whilst Charlton himself took a seat on his cot. From there he watched as the prince rested his elbows on the table’s surface and intertwined his fingers.

The royal in the room noticed the boy looking at him curiously.

Dirt was smeared across the boy’s face, neck and hands. His clothes were too small; sleeves too short, pant legs too short, clothes too tight on the boy’s tiny form. And the smell was horrendous, but it was all very easy to ignore.

Hal put on a small smile as he asked, “You don’t speak?” despite his knowledge.

For a moment the boy hesitated but ended up slowly, cautiously shaking his head.

“Charlton...” Hal spoke, and watched as the child cast a quick glance at the old man before looking back at him. “...he said you have a letter for me.”

Ah, there it was; the boy instantly perked up.

“Hm... So, you don’t speak but you can hear...”

The boy nodded. Every movement he made was slow and cautious.

A long time without speaking then.

“You don’t want to speak...” Hal raised his left hand, and the boy’s eyes followed the movement. “...or you can’t.” He raised his right.

A nod to his right.

He lowered his hands and intertwined them again. “Why?”

A shrug.

“Hm... What’s your name?”

A shrug.

Didn’t know or didn’t remember?

“Who wrote the letter then?” He pointed at the boy. “You?”

Now the boy shook his head quickly, and Hal could see a smile fought to break through. It was as if the boy thought it ridiculous; it amused the prince greatly.

“Who then? Your mother?”

A shrug of the shoulders and a downturn of the boy’s lips as his face twisted into a pained expression. Mournful.

Hal recognised that face. He’d done it before.

“And your father?” Hal raised his brows.

Another shrug but his reaction was different all the same; thin arms wrapped themselves around the boy’s tiny body. Comforting. His hands curled into tiny little fists. Anxious. Afraid even.

“Do you know where they are?”

Now the boy shook his head.

All the questions the boy didn’t know the answers to, it made the prince curious if perhaps...

Slowly, Hal laid his palm on the wooden table as the child followed his every movement with cautious eyes. With his index finger he traced the words; “You don’t remember?” whilst simultaneously saying them.

Then he raised both hands and signed the words; “You don’t remember?” whilst – again – simultaneously speaking. 

The boy’s expression was replaced with a childish curiosity as he inched forward to look closer before he gave a shake of the head.

Possible memory loss then.

Charlton, like the boy, leaned forward too as he was filled with intrigue.

The tracing, the signing, whilst talking; Hal repeated the same process again, but this time...

“I’m Hal,” he introduced himself through signing, then tracing. Only when that was done did he turn his hand over and with his other he traced the words on his palm.

Throughout it all, the boy’s hand had subconsciously moved near Hal’s. Thus, with a gentle touch – barely even there – of the tip of his finger he traced the same words on the back of the child’s hand.

Though it seemed to have initially startled the boy slightly, he was overruled by an immense curiosity that made him turn his own hand over like Hal had done before. 

As the prince traced the words on his palm, the boy let him.

The boy looked up and his eyes met those of the adult opposite him.

Steadfast. Dependable. Authentic. Sincere. Kindness. 

All those qualities the prince showed him, and he liked it. So, the boy looked down at the prince’s palm.

Hal watched as he felt a tiny little finger trace the words; Hello, Hal.


	9. Chapter 8

“The letter, can I see it?”

Hal had been at the hut for a long time now, and he needed to return to the castle before nightfall.

The boy reached into the pocket of his jacket before he handed it over to the prince, who thanked him.

The letter was unopened, crinkled and dirty as he opened it and started reading;

Prince Hal of Westhaven

When you receive this letter, it will be in the possession of my son, Haven II. 

Now I know he is not your biological son, but he deserved the name of a great man, and surprisingly, his father agreed.

Let me start at the beginning.

Five years ago, I, a mere servant girl, met you, my first and one true love. Yet despite my love for you, I committed treason three years ago; I was unfaithful with a man named James.

It was unforgivable what I did.

I hurt you and I’m sorry.

Forever I will be filled with the shame of my blatant disregard of your feelings and of my disrespect of our relationship and the love we shared.

Then your father arrived early from the Battle of The Beheaded Three.

He spoke with me; demanded I leave and if I refused, he would simply punish me for my crimes against you. For my infidelity and for the child I bore because of it.

I left with James for four reasons;

I feared what you would think of me,

I feared you would leave me,

I feared you would hate me,

I feared for my child’s life.

I left while you fought for your men, your people... me. I betrayed you when you were fighting for your life.

My actions disgust me, Hal.

Though I regret my adultery, I will never regret my son.

With time, James showed his true self; he loved to cause our son pain.

He beat Haven.

The first time was one of the worst ones; James choked Haven, and now he won’t speak.

The last time too; James hit the back of Haven’s head, and he is slowly forgetting everything.-

Hal cast said child a glance, whose head was covered by a hat.

-Now you would be twenty-one-years-old. I, nineteen, and my son, three. And the time to let my son go has come because I killed James to protect him, but the consequences are grave, Hal.

By the time you receive this letter James’s friends will have killed me. I will be dead, Hal, and they will be after my son, seeking revenge for what I did.

So, I implore you; Hal, please protect my son. Take care of him. That’s all I ask. You’re the only one I trust to do this for me.

Choose a good name for him.

I never stopped loving you, Hal. And tell Haven II I love him too.

Farewell, my love. 

Your Grace.-

When his heart contracted it felt as if a sharp-edged shard of glass had been shoved through his heart, and a hand reached up to clutch above his bruised heart.

It had been broken and bruised too many times.

The letter in his wounded hand was clenched tight, crinkling the parchment.

“Hal?”

His head snapped up from the scribbled words on the parchment of paper to look at Charlton.

“What is it?” the older man asked, and the concern in his voice was as visible as it was on the man’s face.

Hal ignored him however, even though it hurt to do so and looked down at the cursive words.

Grace had been able to write – beautifully so – because of him; he taught her how to because she wished it, and in return he got nothing but a world of pain and misery.

He looked up and met the concerned blue-grey eyes of Haven II. His heart gave a sudden jolt of pain because those eyes reminded him of her; his past love.

Haven II was named after him. 

A boy with forgotten memories. 

A boy unable to speak. 

A boy whose mother and father were dead, and whose life was his to protect.

There was nothing in Hal that would allow that boy to live a life of loneliness as he fended for himself against however many men were after him. Either way, it was unlikely Haven II would make it very far without him, not that he doubted the strength of the child, but the facts remained the same; any man who sees the inability to speak as a weakness – of which were many – would simply kill the boy if their paths ever happened to cross.

Hal would raise Haven II, and he would endure the pain it would cause him every time he looked at the child who reminded him so much of his past love.

He could live with the pain. What harm would a little more pain do him? He’d just have to adapt to it; he could do that.

There wasn’t anything Hal could do to take the pain away, and his mother always used to say he was strong. So, he’d do what he’d always done; use the pain. The more pain the more motivated he’d be to prove her right.

His eyes flickered back down to the letter in his hand.

Only then did he notice the black letters through the white parchment. 

He flipped the letter and on the other side there was more to read.

-James was a special, Hal. So are his friends.

They know things, have knowledge of your family I believe even you might not know.

First—

Hal read it all.

Now, he had always known Charlton was a special as his paternal grandfather had introduced the two.

-“You were beloved by both specials and non-specials during your reign, no?”

“Yes, I suppose I was,” Clemente answered as he gave his eight-year-old grandson a nod.

Hal nodded too. “So, you would know if there were a possibility of, say... a way to grow a tolerance for their gift of pain illusion?”

Clemente’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Yes.”

“And is there?”

“Why the sudden curiosity, Hal?”

Hal didn’t waver as he repeated his question, “Is there?”

The sixty-six-year-old sighed. “Yes, but you would need a special for that.”

“So, in theory... if someone close to you...” Hal stopped twisting the golden ring on his pinkie and looked away from it to meet his grandfather’s gaze. “...were to ask of you to bring this special friend of yours to meet them... would you?”

Clemente was full of worry now.

It had been building slowly ever since his grandson came to visit earlier that day, but it was only now he decided to voice his thoughts. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’re the one who’s asking,” he said. “But then I wonder, why is that, Hal? Does it have something to do with your recent imprisonment?”

He watched as Hal resumed twisting his ring.

Though his grandson was still looking at him, it seemed the eight-year-old wasn’t seeing much of anything at all, whilst Hal’s mind was back in that cell in the dungeon of the Northenwinter kingdom.

Hal’s blood had been boiling in his veins. It had felt like his skin was melting off, one thin layer at a time. He had felt very much as if he was slowly dying from the inside out as he burned and burned and—

Abruptly, Hal stopped twisting his ring as his fingernails dug into the skin of his hand instead.

His eyes searched their surroundings then.

The large windows that overlooked the far and wide green fields outside the manor. Nobody was near for miles.

There was a guard standing at the white door and though it remained closed, he knew there were many more of them on the other side of it; spread throughout the manor in the rooms and hallways.

That door was Hal’s way out of these four walls. It was his way to the outside world where he could feel free again, like he wasn’t trapped in a prison he couldn’t escape.

His eyes flittered back to the windows. Three covered the wall behind his grandfather and three others the wall to his left. Those were his way out too.

He had all of seven possible exits in that room alone. Albeit, one a little more difficult than the others.

Clemente watched it all happen before his very own eyes.

Then his grandson looked back at him, but his expression never changed. It remained the same indifferent one as if nothing happened just now.

“Just... If I asked, would you – and please do – call upon this friend of yours to...” Hal seemed to stop and search for the correct word to use. “...aid me in any way needed to build that tolerance?”

Hal’s voice was steady – as steady as the eight-year-old’s own heartbeat if Clemente were to guess, if that was even possible. If so, it was too calm for such a moment as this, especially because Clemente believed his grandson had just had a moment of distress, even if it seemed to have been an unusually calm one.

Had his grandson even noticed he didn’t show his true feelings of distress in that moment?

Now Clemente knew Hal had always just been that good at concealing his feelings. He had seen his grandson do so around Jacob. But Hal was still a child and before his month in imprisonment he had verbally expressed whenever he was in a similar moment he was in just now.

If that’s something that’s changed about the boy before him, how much else had changed about his grandson?

How much could a person change in such a short time?

Hal’s otherwise calm exterior, Clemente could understand. That calm and quiet about him had always just been part of who Hal was. Even as a child he hadn’t been much for screaming, crying nor throwing tantrums.

Before his first grandson, he had never experienced such a thing with another child.

“Why would you want this...” Clemente did a vague hand gesture. “...tolerance anyway?”

“I believe you know already.”

Clemente supposed he did know, and that is why he called upon Charlton.

He hadn’t known how the tolerance for the gift of specials were built. He could only guess what it was by Hal’s screams of pain that he could hear from the fields outside his manor every time his grandson and Charlton visited.-

If the things mentioned in the letter were things specials knew of, then Charlton must have known. 

Perhaps his late grandfather had known of it too.

Though, if they had, Hal wouldn’t have blamed either of them for not saying anything of it to him because Jacob should have been the one to do so.


	10. Chapter 9

After dismounting Gatlin, Hal tied the reins to the tie-up point outside the Poindexter’s tavern and helped Haven II off his horse.

When they stepped through the doors to the tavern, he searched for Aunt Tara, dismissing the looks the people threw his way with ease.

A brief glance at the boy in front of his legs told him Haven II wasn’t doing the same. So, he made sure to keep both hands on the child’s shoulders.

Suddenly his eyes met the grey ones of the person he was searching for.

He raised an eyebrow, gave a slight nod in the direction of the storage room. Hal could see the glance she spared the child with him, but then she looked back at him, gave him a nod too. So, he steered Haven II past the bar.

Hal met Tara just outside the storage room.

She looked at him silently.

“Will you look after him?” he whispered to her; that way no one could possibly overhear their conversation despite their attempts at doing so. If the servants did so in the castle, it wouldn’t be any different in the tavern.

Tara cast Haven II a glance, which caused the boy to look down at the ground, and Hal could feel the way the lithe body tensed beneath his hands. Hal squeezed the three-year-old’s shoulders in comfort, and he could physically feel the child calm at the gesture.

Still, the boy’s eyes never left the men around them.

“Who is he?”

Hal thought of it.

Haven II was a name the boy couldn’t keep any longer for it would make it that much easier for the men who’s after him to find the child. 

Now, Haven II had been very unfortunate in life this far, but Hal wished for that to change.

A name would be a good start.

“...Lucky, that’s his name,” he said after a moment, and the child visibly perked up. “But who he is, you’ll find out in due time.”

The older woman just looked at him for a moment, but in the end she just sighed. “Fine.”

Hal gave her a grateful nod before he thought best to inform her, “Lucky doesn’t speak should you wonder.”

There was a question in the woman’s eyes, but she didn’t voice it. Instead she suddenly blurted, “Prince Emil has taken his leave for battle!”

That he was not prepared for.

His brother wasn’t supposed to leave for battle until morning.

As if hearing of these news weren’t unbearable enough as it was, Tara continued, “It seems King Noah is closer than we first thought.”

“How near?”

“King Noah will meet Prince Emil in battle today.”

A day’s miscalculation by King Jacob’s men.

He inhaled sharply.

Hal was supposed to be there, to protect his little brother in battle. His brother who thought he knew battle and war, such horrid things. But Emil knew nothing of it. He had seen nothing.

Emil would surely perish in this battle if Hal wasn’t there to prevent it. Because his brother had not yet finished his training, he didn’t have the means quite yet to survive for long.

Then, determined, he nodded to himself before he turned Haven II – Lucky now – around to face him as he crouched down to the boy’s height. His hands were gentle as he held Lucky’s tiny ones in his. “Whilst I leave here, Aunt Tara will look after you until I return.” 

Even though Lucky could hear him, he still traced the words into the boy’s palm. However, Lucky was shaking his head before he even finished speaking, tears glistening in his eyes. That look had once been directed at him by the child’s mother. Everything about Lucky reminded him of Grace, and it filled him with a searing pain, something so familiar. 

His heart was breaking all over again.

Again, and again and again and again. It never stopped. Never let him breathe.

Sometimes Hal wished he was still that boy from before his mother’s death. The boy who had yet to lose his innocent and naïve outlook on the wretched but beautiful world he lived in.

Hal could remember the day he lost it. It was the same day his heart broke for the first time; he was only three when his beloved German shepherd, Charlie died.

His first friend.

Though, he supposed if he was still that boy, it would only do him more harm than good. Because that boy feeling the everlasting pain Hal was in now, he couldn’t imagine him as that child handling it well.

Either way, Hal was just glad he wasn’t so naïve, for with it, he wouldn’t know what he knew now; that King Jacob could very well be the end of the kingdom of Westhaven and its people.

Lucky’s heartbeat was erratic; Hal could feel it from the wrist he was holding. 

Hal really hadn’t missed the feeling. The pounding of his heart, hearing it in his ears. His heart had just stopped beating at such a fast pace long ago.

The three-year-old’s gaze flitted back to the men around them again.

Fear.

“Here...” Lucky’s eyes moved to the pinkie he held up. “...this finger, it’s special. Did you know that?”

As Hal spoke, he never stopped tracing the words on Lucky’s palm. He would teach him how to properly communicate; enough repetition, and Lucky’s subconscious would learn.

Lucky gave a shake of his head.

“Hm, well... with it, you make a promise,” Hal explained. “It’s called a pinkie swear. Now, people may think it childish... but I’d have to disagree. Because what people tend to forget... the pinkie swear is the highest of all promises; it signifies a promise that can never be broken.” An unbreakable oath, and to break it, would be to allow the wronged to cut off your pinkie, but this, Hal didn’t say. 

However, that was also something people tended to forget, and he never intended to use that in a promise. 

The pinkie swear was something he’d always done with the children in his family; brothers, sisters, cousins, his nine-year-old uncle, Silas Fay.

“So,” he continued as he interlocked their pinkie fingers. “I promise this to you; I shall always protect you, but until I return, Aunt Tara will do so for me.”

Lucky smiled.

Even as he watched his first and only friend walk out the tavern doors, he smiled, because the crown prince would be back to protect him.

...

“Brother!”

Hal instantaneously turned his horse around, pulled him to a stop, swung his leg over Gatlin and jumped down smoothly. Though the action was done gracefully, it went unheeded as his false recklessness overshadowed it. Not because people couldn’t see his grace, but because they expected the carelessness they had been shown for years.

His eighteen-year-old brother, Emmett came to a stop in front of him before the rest of their brothers and sisters.

Seventeen-year-old Alife and sixteen-year-old Eddie came second. Despite their age, they were the most childish of the Ace siblings; always laughing and joking. There really was no need for that to change either, because they were the fourth and fifth in line of succession. 

Between Alife and Eddie was fifteen-year-old Jonas. Though his constant illnesses were upsetting, it was also the thing that prevented him from partaking in battle, whether he finished his education or not – and that, Hal wasn’t against.

Even more upsetting; it seemed his little brother wasn’t getting any better today.

His thirteen-year-old little sister, Ethel was panting slightly by the time she came to a stop in front of him. She leaned against fourteen-year-old Alisha for support.

Hal’s heart hurt. It always did at the sight of his sisters, but he ignored it as easily as he did the commoners stares; it wasn’t often they saw all Ace siblings together like this.

Before they could say anything, he moved closer to Ethel, put a gentle hand to her cheek, thumb barely touching her skin as it caressed her cheekbone. He raised her chin and her blue eyes looked back at him.

He gave a tilt of his head, a silent question in his eyes only Ethel could understand.

She gave him a nod, accompanied by a smile.

Hal leaned in and kissed her forehead before he walked around her, behind his siblings, a hand squeezing each of their shoulders before he came to Jonas. 

Like he did with Ethel, he put his hand on his brother’s cheek, and Jonas gave him a nod too. But what everyone, even Jonas, was oblivious of was that this was Hal’s discreet way of checking his brother’s temperature.

Still very warm, even more than earlier today. But Hal didn’t linger and thereupon made his way back to Gatlin, who had not moved since Hal left his side.

“Brothers, sisters,” he finally greeted them. “I need to take my leave, but I suppose you know that already because here you are. What I don’t know is why.”

Now that wasn’t the truth, but in true irresponsible-immature-drunkard-prince manner, he acted the doltish ignorant fool.

This act of his though, did occasionally become an issue, because there was the façade Hal and the real Hal. In this moment the façade required him to stay and continue the conversation that awaited him, but the real him required him to leave and save his brother.

Emmett’s brows furrowed and a crease formed between them as his little brother looked at him in confusion. “Where to?”

“And in such a hurry?” Alfie added. 

A sigh tore from his chest but before Hal could say anything, Alisha did. “Don’t mind them,” she said, and Hal met his little sisters’ blue eyes as she smiled at him. “We—we’re worried.” 

Hal raised a brow.

It wasn’t difficult to know what about, or rather, who.

Ethel continued for their sister, “It’s Emil. Father shouldn’t have given our brother a responsibility such as leading an army. Not when he hasn’t even finished his education first, at least.”

“Especially without a successful education in warfare,” Eddie added.

The training too, but who’s counting?

“Hm, no... Jacob really shouldn’t have,” Hal agreed.

“Father shouldn’t have disinherited you,” Jonas claimed quietly, making the others nod their agreement.

That his little brothers and sisters thought so highly of him was flattering, he supposed. But he would’ve preferred if he wasn’t condemned to such a fate as the king of the largest of the four kingdoms. But then, he would rather be the king if it meant none of his siblings had to, because he knew what a burden the title was. 

He’d felt its invincible weight for as long as he could remember.

Only he could understand it.

Emmett’s gaze seemed to linger on Jonas for a moment before he looked at their older brother. “He’s right,” he said, and Hal could see their younger brother light up at that. “Emil shouldn’t be out there. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, no matter how much he believes it. None of us should be out there because we wouldn’t know what to do either; we haven’t finished our studies yet. But Hal, you have... I know you cannot promise it, but when you leave here, go to Emil and try to keep him alive. Bring him home.” And yourself too was left unsaid, but Hal heard it all the same.

Hal looked at his siblings.

They didn’t know he’d already promised himself his own return.

What they already knew, however, was that he couldn’t promise Emil’s safe return. All Hal could promise was that he’d try and bring him home.


	11. Chapter 10

Oranges and reds crept through the trees of the forest and cast a light upon the majestic white horse.

It seemed a tranquil moment but then the prince stepped up to the treeline and caught sight of a few hundred men and very few women standing behind his little brother. They were all facing his way – the wrong way. King Noah’s army was supposed to arrive from the opposite direction.

Their armour, he noticed, was a blend of all the four kingdoms.

Northenwinter; King Jacob’s enemy kingdom.

Southblues.

Eastland; his grandparents kingdom, an ally.

Westhaven; his own kingdom.

However, most of them seemed to wear the crest of Westhaven and Northenwinter.

The sense of foreboding he’d felt in the pit of his abdomen only grew stronger.

Something was amiss.

The moment Hal crossed the treeline, he could feel it; a sense of danger sending a shiver up his spine.

As he walked across the field, clad in his black armour, Emil just stood there, watching in an identical pair of armour. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, giving Hal enough light to see where he walked.

When he finally reached his brother, he stopped, but not too close. He couldn’t bring himself to, not when his heart started hurting.

His fingers itched; an instinctual response to survival during a battle, but this wasn’t a battle.

Hal’s gaze locked with that of his little brother.

That look in Emil’s eyes; he understood that look. Hal was the enemy. So, perhaps this was a battle.

“I suppose this—”

“You took your time,” Emil cut him off rudely. “I thought you would have come earlier.”

“Hm... It seems there was no need.” Hal cast a look behind his brother, emphasizing the point of his assessment.

Oh, the resentment which appeared on his little brother’s face... he really wished it wouldn’t have.

“You’re correct, big brother,” Emil agreed and stood taller. He gave a forceful nod before he cast a glance at the people behind him. “There wasn’t. But I wanted you here – we all do.” He spread his arms. “And, of course, when you’re told you won’t be leading the army this time and your brother will lead in your stead... you come running, claiming you want to ‘protect’ but that’s not true, is it?”

Resentment and envy both laced his words.

Hal could hear it clearly and it hurt; that this was what Emil thought of him. He could see it now.

“No!” Emil burst out loudly. “Of course, it isn’t. You don’t want to protect me. I finally have my chance to lead an army. Me! Not you! And that’s why you’ve come here... You’re here to claim the glory—”

There was no glory in war. Only death and despair. It was bloody and unfair.

“—for yourself. For the hope father will finally love you!”

-It had been mere days since the Battle of Arrowheads ended and two days since their return to Blossom Palace, and sixteen-year-old Hal had been bedridden ever since.

The kingdom of Westhaven may have won another battle against the kingdom of Northenwinter, but they lost plenty of good men, women and children.

Hal’s uncle David.

Sixteen-year-old Edward. His cousin had been only a few months younger than himself.

Fourteen-year-old cousin, Edmund.

Twelve-year-old cousin, Darwin.

They were among the dead.

They had survived the most difficult period of life already; early childhood. So, if the same laws which applied to the sons of the king had applied to the rest of his family, then his cousins’ deaths could’ve been hindered.

Subconsciously, his jaw clenched.

Instantaneously, his face screwed up and his eyes squeezed shut in agony.

His entire face erupted in a searing, white hot pain as the movement bothered his most recent battle wound.

Hal had been shot in the face with an arrow, though it had long since been removed. Still, the left half of his face was covered in linen, which was the only thing keeping the probes inside the wound.

The physician and surgeon, Jason, who performed his surgery, had told Hal the probes were to allow the wound to heal and close naturally.

He breathed deeply, a long-suffering sigh.

He tried fruitlessly to blink away the tears in his eyes.

How he wished his mother was there beside him, her fingers running through his black locks of hair.

Whilst Hal inherited his mother’s looks, he seemed to share nothing but blood with Jacob.

“Wow,” a Northern accent commented, startling Hal, whose eyes snapped opened. He’d been unaware he’d kept them closed.

A brown-haired, brown-bearded man moved to the dark wooden table in Hal’s bedchambers and started taking off each piece of armour he wore. It revealed a hooded, dark brown cloak underneath. If that wasn’t identifying enough, then the moment the man took off his cloak and put it on the table was, as it revealed a plethora of blades beneath.

Then Brown Beard looked at Hal and laughed.

Hal agreed with the man he looked rather pitiful in his current state of health; besides the linen on his face, he was running a fever, his black hair a greasy mess, his skin a sickly-pale. He couldn’t yet speak. All because of his injury.

“This will be fairly easy, I see,” Brown Beard mused as started removing his blades too. “Clearly,” he scoffed to himself, boastful, full of haughtiness, an air of egotism surrounding him.

Hal hoped Assassin Brown Beard was too self-assured and so conceited the man believed no one could beat him. Because despite Hal’s prowess and competence in martial arts and weaponry, there wasn’t much of a chance for him to win a fight against an assassin in his current condition.

When Brown Beard ripped the covers off him, Hal knew this might be the day that he’d die, in the weakest and most vulnerable state he’s ever been.

A hand grabbed his ankle and roughly threw him off the bed.

He landed on the dark brown wooden floors, causing pain to erupt in his back and a groan to elicit from the back of his throat.

Hal cast a glance at the curtain that covered the large rectangular bay window.

He tried to crawl backwards to it, but it was such a slow process that it was rendered useless the moment Brown Beard wrapped two strong hands around his throat and squeezed tightly. Hal uselessly pried at Brown Beard’s hands as they cut his airways off.

In the cherry blossom garden outside the palace, eight-year-old Ethel, nine-year-old Alisha, and ten-year-old Jonas were making flower crowns. It was a joyful moment in their lives.

“Prince Hal, aye? My employer, he, uh, said something about wanting you dead. Something about you ‘stealing his glory.’ You know, standing in the way of what he wanted. Said you’re his competition or something the like,” Brown Beard rambled.

What an amateur.

Hal reached for the curtain and pulled. The vast and leaden curtain fell on top of Brown Beard.

Ethel gasped. Her older brother was up and walking finally. 

Smiling happily, she pointed to the window and exclaimed, “Look!”

Alisha automatically smiled and followed her little sister’s gaze, but the sight caused her smile to fade quickly.

“Hal’s awake! And he’s walking again!”

Alisha’s eyes squinted in concentration but then they widened.

She stood up and let the flower crown – nearly finished and beautiful – fall from her lap, upon the grass.

Ethel’s eyes widened in horror as she watched. “Alisha!” she exclaimed.

Jonas looked at Ethel, while Alisha ignored her little sister’s cry and pointed towards Hal’s window. “I think something’s wrong!”

Ethel and Jonas followed their sister’s gaze and there Hal was; standing up, steadying himself against the rectangle bay window. There was no linen on his facial injury anymore.

Alisha was right; something was wrong, awfully so. Hal knew not to remove the linen.

Now they were all standing in sudden panic.

They watched as another man appeared behind their struggling and vulnerable and weak brother.

Ethel gasped.

“Come on! We have to help him!” Alisha exclaimed before she started running.

Jonas and Ethel were quick to follow, though significantly slower, as Jonas was currently recovering from another illness while Ethel had her difficulty breathing.

Hal braced himself against the wooden cabinet beside the fireplace to keep him on his feet as he gasped for air.

A hand clasped his shoulder, turned him around, but Hal hit Brown Beard in the head with the golden candlestick he grasped in his hand.

Brown Beard held his head.

It hurt the man then. 

Good.

Because it couldn’t be worse than the pain Hal was in.

Then his feet were kicked from under him and his back hit the floor, a blinding hot pain erupting in his spine.

Turning over, Hal got on his hands and knees but before he could rise to his feet, a sharp pain erupted in his spine, and his abdomen crashed to the floor.

The air was knocked out of him as another stomp of a foot was delivered to his spine. Then a third time and a snap sounded as an excruciating agony erupted in his spinal cord.

Hal gasped as a pain erupted in his ribs, then again, and again and again and again and again.

Each kick to his ribs caused his bones to audibly crack.

Nine times.

Before a tenth kick could be delivered, Hal rolled under the table.

It was impossible to ignore the agony in his face, his ribs, his spine. It was everywhere; in every limb and nerve in his body.

Breathing suddenly became so much more difficult, as if it wasn’t taking every ounce of his energy already to not get killed.

Perhaps this was what it felt like for his little sister, Ethel, when she could hardly breathe? This breathlessness that plagued him just then.

Just breathing hurt.

Every manservant and maidservant looked at the three oddly as Alisha, Jonas and Ethel ran up the staircase.

As Hal heaved and gasped for breath, he caught sight of Brown Beard’s blades on the table.

What a dolt.

Before he could think of it, Hal somersaulted over the wooden table, grasped the hilt of one of the blades—and just then, he began to feel a numbness in his hands and a pain in the back of his neck that hadn’t been there before.

Perspiration covered Hal’s body in a thin layer of sweat from the strain Brown Beard was forcing the prince’s body through.

Simultaneously, as he landed on his feet, he stabbed Brown Beard through the heart.

Then the door slammed open, but Hal didn’t look.

Alisha, Ethel and Jonas stood in the doorway and watched as their older brother pulled the blade from the unknown man’s heart, causing the man’s body to fall to the floor. 

Blood covered the sixteen-year-old’s hands.

A cough interrupted the silence of the room and the children watched as their older brother started coughing. It was such a painful sound to hear; rough and loud. But then he started spluttering and blood spurted from his mouth.

As the blade clattered to the floor, Hal wrapped an arm around his abdomen and slowly dropped to the floor.

Now, without his previous distraction, Hal was very much aware of just the amount of pain he was in.

It was more than he’d ever felt before.

He leaned his back against the wall beside the bay window, which evoked a pained groan from him as it only intensified the pain in his spinal cord. Now he could really feel it; the lower back pain, the numbness, the stiffness.

A dislocated spine.

He coughed, and blood dribbled down his chin as he released strangled gasps.

Hal was completely covered in blood, and it was in this state his youngest siblings saw him in as they came to sit with him on the floor. 

They screamed for help.

Brown Beard caused this; made Hal’s little siblings watch this. It comforted him, even if just a little bit, that he killed the assassin with his own weapon, such a spectacular revenge.

That day, no one knew if the oldest Ace sibling would live to see sunrise.

It made Hal’s brothers and sisters realise just how much they needed their older brother.-

Hal inhaled sharply.

He looked at Emil and clenched his jaw.

His heart contracted painfully in his chest and it only made the ache in his veins stronger and the burning pain in his spine burn brighter.

This was the cause behind his dread, his foreboding.

‘My employer, he, uh, said something about wanting you dead.’

‘Stealing his glory.’

‘Standing in the way of what he wanted.’

‘You’re his competition.’

Hal supposed he’d always known.

If only the employer would’ve been more fear-inducing than a fourteen-year-old spare prince, then Brown Beard wouldn’t have given away such vital information which sounded an awful lot like Emil’s temper tantrum rants.

He just hadn’t wanted to believe.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.

But deep down he’d always known, and it hurt. It was re-opening an old wound in his heart and breaking it all over again.

“It was you.”

Emil’s head tilted, much in the same way Hal’s did; only his little brother’s emotions were prominent for all to see. “It was me, what?”

“The assassin; you sent him,” he replied, but his brother didn’t say a word. “Was it not you, Emil? Hm?”

His little brother looked away, unable to look his big brother in the eye any longer, the shame of his actions too great. But neither was he calling it off.

Good thing Jacob knew nothing of this, Hal thought to himself in bitter amusement. Couldn’t have anyone know the king of the largest of the four kingdoms was unable to control two of his eldest sons, could he? One was bad enough.

Hal looked around at the people behind his little brother, feeling how alone he truly was.

He shook his head slightly as he brought a hand from behind his back and twirled his index finger around, indicating their surroundings. “And thus, this is not a battle. You are here to kill me.”


	12. Chapter 11

A moment of silence commenced, and Hal noticed some of the people behind Emil shuffle their feet. They were uncomfortable. Why were they uncomfortable?

Unless...

Hal watched as the nineteen-year-old prince applauded suddenly, uncomfortably so. “Cheers! Well done, big brother! It only took you five—ah, no... nearly six years to realise!”

“No... No, I have always known in my heart. I just wish it wouldn’t have been true.”

“Well, here we are,” Emil said, though Hal didn’t miss the momentary shock he was unable to hide.

“Hm...” Hal nodded. “...But why?”

Emil let out an incredulous laugh, though his eyes displayed the confusion he felt. “Huh?”

“This,” he gestured around them. “All of this. It’s because you want to be king?”

“Yes!” Emil burst out loudly and stomped his foot into the ground. His red face completed the whole child tantrum impression.

“Well, you already have it, little brother. So, have at it.”

Hal watched as a sudden conflicted expression formed on Emil’s face, just for a second before something changed; a crease formed between his brows as he suddenly asked, “How can I be sure of that, huh?”

Hal’s shoulders lifted in a shrug, but before he could say a word, he watched as his little brother continued his spiel, “I mean, as long as you’re alive that could change.”

Ah, there it was.

Hal’s heart contracted painfully, more agonizing than before.

Emil believed Hal would be given the throne even though he’d been disinherited. Perhaps, his little brother even believed Hal might kill him for the throne.

He tilted his head slightly as he looked at the nineteen-year-old. “Is there really, though? Because if you haven’t yet noticed, little brother... Jacob reviles me. He has belittled me for as long as I can remember.” It was factual, and undoubtably an understatement.

A scoff of incredulity escaped Emil then. “Oh, of course, he has. How could he not? With the way you act.” That was not the reason behind Jacob’s feelings and belittlement towards Hal, but Emil’s expression caught his attention far more than anything. The disgust on his little brother’s face said enough of what he thought of his behaviour, and honestly, Hal didn’t blame him, because he didn’t particularly enjoy acting so. In the end however, the purpose behind the façade was far more important than his feelings. “The way you refuse to call him father.” Emil shook his head, seemingly unable to comprehend why. “And of course, how you killed our mother, our sister.”

Hal inhaled sharply as his heart gave a jolt of pain.

Behind his back, his nails dug into the palm of his left hand, into the wounds already there. It intensified the ache in his every nerve but for once, he welcomed the excruciating agony coursing through his veins and along his spine.

He needed it now, he needed it all; the pressure at his spine, the discomfort and the stiffness and the soreness in his joints, the throbbing and the pricking of his skin, the cramps and the shooting and the stabbing pain in his abdomen and bruising heart.

The pain was in every limb, in each layer of skin.

Nothing was left untouched by the scorching flames inside him.

Still, he remained calm.

“Spoke with Jacob, I assume.”

Emil nodded firmly. “Yes. He told me—”

“That I killed our Wyetta?” Oh, how it hurt to say his sister’s name.

Anxiously, Emil shifted on his feet.

Our Wyetta, repeated in the nineteen-year-old’s head. He hadn’t known her name.

Hal’s heartbeat was calm, it was steady, but it was breaking.

“Wyetta, she was... on her deathbed. I stayed with her always – refused to leave her side really. Four days, that’s how long it took for her to wither away... Every breath she took was more so a wheeze – I remember she said it hurt her throat and chest.” He briefly gestured at his own. “Hm... Jacob did love her, but he never visited despite her begging and pleading and crying. I was with her when she took her last breath. You were too little to understand but still you cried, and I comforted you.”

Emil swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head. “I... I don’t remember that. Any of it.” I don’t remember Wyetta.

“And you seem to have forgotten how our mother passed as well.”

Emil shook his head. “No, no, I remember.”

“Oh, you do, do you? Because I seem to recall you saying I killed our mother as well... despite knowing otherwise.”

“I—we weren’t there. I...” Emil didn’t know what to say.

Hal nodded. “Hm.” 

Where were you, Emil?

Emil steeled himself then. “Why do you never speak of her? Wyetta. If she was so important to you.”

Even the people behind the nineteen-year-old prince shook their heads. Surely, the prince must have known how truly silly his attempt at gaining control of the conversation was?

“For the same reason any person does not speak of the dead.”

Emil only realised how foolish a try it was then, but before he could say a word, his older brother spoke. “Jacob wouldn’t disinherit you to declare me the first in line of succession. He wants you to ascend the throne. And you know as well as I do; the king doesn’t change his mind.”

Despite the truth behind Hal’s words, Emil still shook his head. “Still, I cannot risk it.”

Hal’s teeth bit into his tongue. “Yes, you can,” he insisted.

“No, I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I can’t,” Emil gritted out, but he didn’t look at him, and that told Hal everything he needed to know.

His brother could take the risk; he just wouldn’t.

Emil wouldn’t listen. Thus, Hal knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“Emil.” 

When his little brother finally looked at him, Hal still fought. “I have never sought for the crown to be placed upon my head. Why would I do so now, hm?”

“For the same reason you came here today.”

‘You’re here to claim the glory for yourself. For the hope father will finally love you!’ Hal heard his brother’s voice say in his mind.

“I came because all I want is for you to be safe.”

“I cannot risk it,” Emil repeated, completely ignoring what his older brother said, and Hal knew this might be the day that he’d die.

Then someone, bearing the armour of Westhaven, moved from their place beside the nineteen-year-old prince.

“What are you doing?” Emil’s voice was astonished, incredulous, unbelieving as he looked on. “Get back here!”

But she didn’t listen. 

As the young woman took her place a step behind and to the side of the twenty-one-year-old prince, Sir John, an Eastland soldier, followed and did the same on Hal’s other side.

More Eastland and Westhaven soldiers left Emil’s side to join Hal. Some Southblues did too. No Northenwinter soldier though.

The people which stayed at Emil’s side stood right beside him, whilst the people at Hal’s side stood a step behind. Hal presumed his brother had either forgotten about it, or simply didn’t notice his men’s lack of respect for him.

Either way, the soldiers behind Hal came here with a purpose, whilst the soldiers beside Emil simply seemed to have come for the chance of taking Hal Ace’s life.

For that, damn the protocols.

Hal turned his head, clasped the woman’s shoulder, and as her gaze met his, he said, “Thank you.”

She gave him a nod. “You’re welcome, Your Highness.”

When he turned back, Emil was furious.

Emil drew his sword and his people followed. Then he looked at his older brother and shouted, “Kill him!”


	13. Chapter 12

Though the sun had gone down, and he could barely see anything other than black shadows moving, Hal had fought in enough battles that his instincts and subconsciousness was everything he needed in the dark summer night.

His attention never wavered.

Metal clashed against metal as an enemy sword collided with his. His sword slid over the man’s in a circle before he thrust it forward and stabbed the man in the abdomen.

When he ripped his sword out, the body went limp and as he turned around, he heard the body fall to the ground with a thud.

Suddenly, there was a loud pop as a stabbing pain erupted in his left elbow and he tripped over the body behind him onto his back with a gasp. But he was swift as he got back on his knees in time to block a sword from slashing into his flesh.

As the sword pulled back, Hal slashed his own at the front of the man’s ankles.

Then he was on his feet behind the man and slashing the back of his legs, watching as he fell to his knees.

Before he turned his back, he swiftly and efficiently reached around with the arm whose elbow was just dislocated to lift the man’s chin and cut his throat.

The man would die a quick death.

Hal let that thought console him as much as it possibly could.

Only then did he turn his back on the enemy.

He stopped as his emerald irises caught the ocean blue gaze in front of him.

Soldiers were fighting and dying around them for a meaningless crusade, yet his little brother only had eyes for Hal.

Hal blocked when Emil swung his sword, and despite keeping his arm close to his body, it jostled his dislocated elbow.

Emil wasn’t much of a difficult opponent for Hal to beat. 

Though he knew his little brother’s way of fighting, his weaknesses, it was his brother’s lack of experience in battle fighting and not nearly enough training that would be the end of Emil.

This was Emil’s first battle, and any love he held for Hal was overruled by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Hal remembered his first battle; grown men drawn to him like a moth to a flame as they sought for the glory of killing the enemy king’s son, sought to colour their armour in his blood so they could wear it proudly for all to see. Hal’s goal had been to survive, and survive he did.

Emil had a goal he strived to achieve on this day too.

Hal pushed his brother’s sword away from him. “You don’t have to do this, little brother.”

Emil was panting already so he barely got his words out. “Of course, I do.”

Then he swung again but Hal sidestepped him this time, his brother’s sword narrowly missing his head.

Emil attacked and attacked without an ounce of hesitation, whilst all Hal was doing was deflecting and blocking.

He’d already been betrayed by Emil, and he knew there was no stopping his brother from killing him now.

Hal was only exhausting himself by prolonging the inevitable—

His back harshly connected with the hard ground beneath him. Emil was standing above him, sword ready to stab him in the heart.

-...he interlocked their pinkie fingers. “I promise this to you; I shall always protect you, but until I return, Aunt Tara will do so for me.”

Lucky smiled.-

Hal made a vow and he couldn’t break it.

Grace’s child needed him.

Hal swiped Emil’s feet from underneath him. Then he was the one above his little brother, sword abandoned on the ground beside them.

He replaced it with his black dagger, an emerald stone in the hilt. His other hand, he caressed his little brother’s face as it filled with a sudden fear and acceptance he’d never seen on Emil before.

Emil had a tight, bruising grip on both of his wrists.

“I’m sorry, big brother,” Emil whispered.

Though their father’s approval was far more important to his little brother, Emil still loved him.

A tear fell from Emil’s eyelid and streamed down his dirt and blood covered cheek. Hal wiped it away with his thumb, and his brother seemed to suddenly breathe easy.

Emil was comforted by the affectionate and the loving touch of his older brother.

Hal didn’t want to do it, but he knew Emil would only try this again.

He had to do it...

His heart contracted painfully in his chest. It was breaking because of Emil but still Hal comforted him. 

I’m sorry, mother. I must break the promise I made to you.

“Don’t be sorry, little brother,” he whispered softly, voice breaking. “I trusted you... My mistake, not yours.”

Then he pushed the dagger into his little brother’s heart, causing the nineteen-year-old to gasp.

Hal’s face crumpled in anguish and despair as his eyes filled with tears.

The hands around his wrists slowly went limp.

Ocean blue eyes became glassy as the youthful face slowly grew lifeless.

Hal watched as his little brother breathed once more... then stopped.

He gasped, breath trembling and tears falling from his eyes as an ache formed in his painfully contracting heart. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Inhaling deeply, he pulled the dagger from Emil’s heart. A fresh set of tears blurred his sight suddenly because his brother’s heart was no longer beating.

His eyes caught sight of his hands then, coated in fresh blood; thick and warm.

Only then did he realise...

His head snapped up and his breath hitched. His tears stopped.

The sun was rising in the horizon, and he just...

He looked back down at his brother, who he could see more clearly now, as the slight sunlight shone down on them.

It was Hal’s day of birth. He was twenty-two now, and he just killed his little brother...

A sense of foreboding grew in his abdomen suddenly and snapped him out of his revelation. Now he could hear everything. He hadn’t even realised he’d only been hearing a constant ringing noise in his ears until then.

Swords clashed. People screamed and roared their battle cries. But nothing caught his attention quite like the feeling of a nearby threat.

Mortal danger, he could feel it creeping up his spine now. 

He scrambled off Emil’s unmoving body and he went to reach for his sword but the moment his hand roughly connected with the ground, a pop was heard, accompanied by a blinding pain running through his entire arm as he proceeded to fall on his side. Hal heaved as he cradled his arm to his chest.

He’d completely forgotten about his dislocated elbow, and now it was back in its rightful place.

There were no relief with the knowledge however, as he climbed onto his feet, eyes searching. But then a kick to his spine had him faceplanting onto the bloody ground beneath his feet.

Swiftly rolling onto his back, his hands caught the sword meant to kill him.

A stab in the back to end his life. How fitting.

Hal’s face twisted at the burning pain, blood running down his armour-clad arms from where the sword carved wounds into his palms.

He deserved this though, did he not? He killed Emil. His little brother.

First, he failed Wyetta.

Now he’d failed Emil too.

If he just let this happen, then—

’I shall protect you, little brother, until the day I die.’

’I shall protect you, little sister, until the day I die.’

Hal shook his head. No, he needed to live; for his brothers and sisters, for Westhaven and his people, for Lucky.

Grunting, he gave one hard push with both hands, the pain in his palms and elbow intensifying; it was making it hard to think. But he fought through it as he instantaneously let his hands drop to block the sword with his plated forearms.

Then he pushed up and to the left, changing their positions, whilst simultaneously pushing the sword out of the man’s hand. 

Hal looked at his hand and hesitated.

He could turn his pain into power. He’d done it before; he could do it again. Hal had done it his entire life; it was easy for him now, was it not? After all, didn’t his pain mean nothing, just like Jacob had taught him? So, why not at least make it useful?

Then the man’s fist connected with the left side of his face, and all his hesitation disappeared as he embraced the pain instead of dreading it; clenched his left hand into a white knuckled fist. Pain erupted in his wounded palm and previously dislocated elbow but that just meant more power for him.

That was all Hal needed and his fist connected with the enemy’s face.

It hurt. But, pain into power, right? And in this moment, Hal was full of it.

So, he hit, and he hit, and he hit, repeatedly until his knuckles bled, and his elbow dislocated again.


	14. Chapter 13

Once he found what he looked for, his heart contracted painfully.

His eyes didn’t move from the body as he slowly, crossed legged, sank down to the ground, sword leaning against his leg. He sat so close that the side of his own body grazed the corpse.

A sigh tore from him as Hal looked upon the face of his little brother.

It was much paler than he remembered.

Emil’s dead eyes looked heavenward, unseeing, and as Hal gently closed those ocean eyes, he could feel it; the skin was much colder too.

Teeth bit the inside of his cheek.

He looked away from his brother at the rising sun. It was such a beautiful sight; oranges with tones of pink lit up the sky and cast streams of sunlight across the field. It could’ve been a tranquil summer morning if not for the bodies scattered across the field, blood beneath them.

Hal inhaled deeply, blinking away the tears before they could fall from his eyes as his heart contracted in sorrow.

The bodies, he knew, would just be left on the field to decay.

He recognised a plethora of the dead. 

Some Eastland soldiers he’d met whenever he visited his grandparent’s kingdom, whilst others he’d fought beside in previous battles. 

All Westhaven soldiers had been stood beside him in many battles before this day. 

He remembered none of the Northenwinter soldiers from previous battles fought against them, and the Southblues soldiers were all strangers to him.

Then there were the living soldiers; all Westhaven, Eastland and Southblues. No Northenwinter. As if this had been just like any battle won, they were walking from corpse to corpse, collecting the dead’s weapons. But this wasn’t a regular battle.

His gaze flicked back down at his little brother’s face.

It was a crusade that meant nothing in the end.

Lives were lost for nothing.

His heart ached, and he inhaled sharply when an intensified jolt of pain went through his body. It had been more painful than ever before in this battle; would it last?

He looked down at his palms; the wounds were bleeding still, slowly now.

His eyes flickered around the field, and he froze.

The black dagger with the emerald stone. Emil’s blood coated the blade. Just his. His little brother had been the only one to fall victim to his dagger in this battle.

Hal slowly picked it up and looked down at it.

He’d killed his little brother with it; stabbed him in the heart, just like his brother had been about to do to him.

He swallowed.

The pain he could ignore, just for a short while until he returned to the castle. He had to.

So, he sighed and held onto it.

...

As Prince Hal of Westhaven lead the small army of men and few women with their black and brown horses, he stood out even more than before with his white horse.

Emerald irises glanced at the dagger strapped to his leg.

Would he always think of Emil when he looked upon the weapon?

Perhaps he could get rid of it?

No, it was given to him by his mother before she passed.

He looked away and he held his breath, his migraine only intensifying and growing worse the more he thought of it.

Suddenly, he remembered... He looked over his shoulder at the woman from the battle. She had been the first to join him, but he’d seen her before that, at the bakery in the Bloom Village.

He looked back in front of him. “Edythe Baker, is it?”

From the corner of his eye, he watched as her head snapped his way and she instantaneously straightened upon the black horse she rode.

“Um...” she started, unsure before she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Hm, you wouldn’t happen to know... when Emil started that... charade of his, would you?”

Edythe seemed aghast for a moment. Still she asked, “Charade, Your Highness?”

“Oh, you know...” He gave a slight tilt of his head. “...the pretending. The crusade. When did my little brother start his assembling of an army – however small – with the intention to kill me?”

“Um...” she hesitated. “...a few years ago, I would think. I was one of the first Prince Emil would approach.”

A few years.

Hal inhaled sharply, quietly as he nodded. “And why did my brother approach you, Ms. Baker?”

Edythe swallowed nervously. “Maybe Prince Emil thought me easy to persuade, Your Highness.”

“Because you work in a bakery?”

Edythe lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Could be so, yes.”

Or because Hal’s little brother hadn’t been able to see who was for his crusade and who was against it.

“Prince Hal, if I may...” Edythe trailed off, suddenly hesitant as she suddenly grew even more unsure and nervous than before.

Hal turned his head her way. “Hm?”

For a moment she didn’t dare speak, and the hesitation was visible on her face for the prince to see. But then she swallowed and asked, “Why did you ask me that question?”

“Should I have done otherwise?”

Her eyes widened suddenly when she realised how her question sounded; as if he shouldn’t have asked her that question or asked it at all.

“No, I didn’t mean—” she cut off her stuttering quickly, took a deep breath and waited a moment before speaking again. “What I meant was; any other man wouldn’t have resorted to ask a woman such an important question regarding such a delicate matter...”

But even after her explanation to try and correct her mistake, Edythe looked very much like she’d just dug herself a bigger hole as her eyes widened for a second time throughout their short conversation. Before she could begin another rant however, Hal had already braced himself as he swiftly pushed himself up on two feet before he was lowering himself into the saddle again. Backwards this time. Facing Edythe.

“Your Highness!” Edythe yelped in surprise, and the expression on her face mirrored the astonished one on the man riding beside her; Sir John.

“...Yet I did,” Hal finished her previous statement. “And you want to know why, do you?”

“...Um...” She glanced at Sir John uncertainly. “...yes?”

“Ms. Baker, you were the first to join me. Thought you might be the one to hold the answers to my inquires.”

“Oh...” Edythe visibly deflated, but the prince wasn’t yet finished.

“And, is it not only fair, hm? To ask a woman what you would ask of a man,” he asked. “A woman holds as much worth as that of a man. That is the way the world should be, yes? Fair and just. Free of peoples vile discriminations.”

Edythe’s face brightened at this, and with that, Hal turned back around as they continued their journey to the Bloom Castle.

The delighted and mirthful smile Edythe wore lasted the rest of the day as her elation never diminished, whilst Hal couldn’t keep his gaze away from the dagger.

Hal breathed deeply.

It felt like his heart was being ripped apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. Then it repeated. Again, and again, and again...

Was he dying inside, or was the pain in his heart becoming worse?


	15. Chapter 14

“You left! It’s not yours anymore!” Wade raised his voice, outraged by the man in front of him.

“It—” Fitzroy burped as he pointed his finger in the younger man’s face, while ale spilled over the rim of the jug in his other hand. “—is mine.”

“You have no right to the family business, Fitzroy,” Tara said firmly, steeling herself to where she stood.

She needed to be brave for her niece and nephew. It was just that much more difficult in the face of this monster. The people around her unaware of the fear lurking in the back of her hardened mind and protective heart.

Fitzroy stepped closer. “You—”

Suddenly Beck was standing there, a shield between the fuming, drunken man and her family as she looked up at him with a glint of courage in her eyes. “You should leave.”

His eyes looked down on her. “Oh, really?” he asked, a cruel laugh breaking through his speech.

“You need to leave,” Beck spoke calmly, even though her heart was racing in her chest. “There’s nothing for you here.”

Fitzroy spread his arms wide open, spilling more ale onto the floors, and the carelessness of the movement indicated it had been his intention to do so. “But of course, there is! This is my tavern. I bought it—"

“Then you left, and we bought it back,” Beck interrupted him. “It’s ours now.”

The jug dropped from Fitzroy’s hand onto the floors and the ale spilled out in a large puddle. Though the sound was loud, the customers occupying the tavern simply looked once and didn’t look again.

A hand raised, and Beck froze, her eyes clenched shut, blood running cold in her veins as fear filled her soul. “You little—”

The doors slammed open suddenly, and the tavern went silent as every pair of eyes laid upon the person standing in the doorway.

Beck’s eyes snapped open and her frightened expression loosened in unadulterated relief as her eyes found her saviour—she gasped loudly, hands flying up to cover her gaping mouth.

Hal.

He was dressed in the black shoes, the black trousers, and the black and navy-blue doublet he’d worn the day before. There was a bruise on his left cheekbone and horizontal cuts on his palms which oozed with fresh blood that trailed down his long fingers. His hands were crusted in dry blood.

It looked like the crown prince had come straight from battle, despite the wounds needing attending to. Either way, it seemed to be the last thing on his mind as Hal just looked at them for a moment.

“Anyone mind telling me what’s going on?”

Was it just Beck or was her friend’s eyes different? More intense. Darker, colder.

There seemed to be a... melancholy aura about him, even though his voice remained the same as it’d always been; quiet, not an octave louder than needed, calm, steady, with a soft and gentle undertone to it.

“Uh, we, um...” Fitzroy stumbled over his words.

“So,” Hal said, index finger pointing at the drunken man as he took a few slow steps closer. “You’re the father...”

Beck held her breath as her father nodded, suddenly smug.

“Ah... I can’t see the resemblance, I must say,” the prince muttered, making the deadbeat father frown, whilst it earned chuckles from the customers and smiles from the rest of the Poindexter family. 

“I am their father,” Fitzroy insisted.

Hal nodded. “Hm, and you’ve come here because...”

“I want my tavern back.”

“So, you’re the father and you want the family business back, you say.”

Fitzroy nodded.

Hal frowned for a moment. “...But you left though, did you not?”

Wade, Beck and Tara were amused as they looked at the stunned man. “I—well, yes, but—”

“Thirty-one years have passed in your absence, and you never did show your face again, did you? Not until now. King Jacob had no choice but to sell.”

Now Beck was left to wonder how her friend knew of business that happened before his birth; how he knew the exact number of years it’d been since her father left on the top of his head like that.

“Your Highness—”

“Therefore, this business no longer belongs to you. You have no right to it. No claim to make. It’s now owned by Mr. Poindexter and his sister, Ms. Poindexter.” Hal gestured to Wade and Beck. “It’s theirs to do whatever they so wish.”

“I am their father,” Fitzroy insisted.

“Oh, I know,” Hal remarked, and chuckles travelled to his ears. “Still, resemblance or not, it changes nothing.”

“But—”

“You best be on your way now, yes?”

Fitzroy didn’t dare fight the prince any more than he already had. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“And do not raise your hand at a woman again. Ever,” Hal said firmly.

“I haven’t,” Fitzroy claimed.

“Then why is your hand still raised?” Hal gave a nod towards said limb.

When he followed Hal’s gaze his eyes widened, and he quickly put his hand down. He hadn’t even realised...

He looked back at the prince. “Uh...”

Hal nodded to the doors. “Just leave and don’t come back.”

As Fitzroy walked away from the bar, his hand swiped its surface. When he passed Hal, he turned back but the prince had already done the same, hit his wrist and disarmed him.

Hal flipped the knife and caught it by the hilt. “Hm. Interesting you already try to kill me.”

A collective gasp was heard from around the two men.

Fitzroy scowled. He grabbed a stool and smashed it against the wooden floors, breaking it to use the wooden leg as a makeshift weapon.

He tried to hit Hal with it, but the prince simply turned, grabbed the wooden leg under his arm and simultaneously disarmed him whilst elbowing him in the face with the other, making a piercing pop fill the tavern.

The customers either gasped or winced as their crown prince didn’t even waver in the slightest as he proceeded to use the makeshift weapon for himself to hit the older man in the face, making him fall to the floor.

“I’ve had enough men try and kill me in the past two days. Now... would you please?” Hal gestured to the doors.

Fitzroy didn’t need to be told a third time.

When the doors finally closed behind the man, Hal looked down at his left elbow. It was awfully discoloured and bruised.

Three times.

Three dislocations of the same elbow.

Two resetting’s of the that elbow, and now, onto the third...

He inhaled forcefully before he pulled his wrist down and levered it back into place with a resounding pop that rang in his ears.

After a moment of silence, Hal sighed, twirled the knife and turned back to the customers. “Well, now that that business is over, let me assure you... we won!”

Silence... then his exclamation was thereafter received with cheers as the men raised their jugs of ale in good cheer.

“Thus, the ale for the rest of the evening, I will pay,” he declared, and even more cheers erupted. “Let us celebrate now. Drink, drink, drink, drink!” 

His encouragement was all the people needed before they were chugging their ale, immersed in their celebrating.

Beck watched as Hal looked their way before he moved to the nearest table, took a seat and with the knife, he pointed at the seats opposite him.

“I think a drink would fit this moment, just divine, yes?”

Wade released a resigned sigh but made his way behind the bar all the same. It wasn’t long before he was back with their drinks, however.

The family of three shared a look as they joined their royal friend at the table and Wade handed them their jug of ale.

Hal accepted his with a grateful nod, holding the jug in both hands as he rested his elbows on the table and took a sip.

He’d just have to ignore the pain for a little bit longer.

“Hal, your injuries—”

“Can wait,” the injured prince interrupted Beck’s older brother, and Wade closed his mouth. Hal knew his friends weren't looking forward to the conversation they were about to have, but neither was he in the mood to indulge in Wade’s attempt at stalling. “What cannot wait however, is this; you accidentally sitting down upon a shard of glass, was not true, no? It was Fitzroy, your father.”

Wade laughed nervously. “Our father did not cut me with a shard of glass—”

“No,” Hal agreed, and Wade sighed in relief. “Just cut you with a knife, he did.”

That moment of complete and utter relief vanished and was instead replaced by an incredulous disbelief as Wade looked at their young friend. “How did you know?! I never told you this, Hal!” he exclaimed.

Beck looked at Hal with curiosity shining in her eyes. Often, she wondered this too. How did he know these things? Things he wasn’t supposed to know.

Hal only looked at them.

Wade groaned. “Hal, come on, tell us.”

“It was a clean cut, too neat to be from a broken piece of glass. I just stopped your father from backhanding Beck. It was not difficult to put the pieces together.”

Suddenly, Beck did feel foolish. This should have been obvious to her, right?

Wade sighed in defeat.

“Fitzroy will come back,” Tara said then and looked at Hal. “He has always been a stubborn bastard, that man.” She shook her head.

“Then return he will.” Hal raised his jug in faux cheer and took a sip.

“You don’t seem concerned,” Beck observed, and Hal looked at her.

“Because I’m not.”

“Alright,” Tara suddenly said, and Beck looked between her aunt and friend as they looked at each other. “Let me take a look at those injuries of yours, at least?” she requested.

But Hal was shaking his head before she finished speaking. He stood from his stool and downed his ale before putting his jug down. “Hm, no. I am to celebrate our victory today.”

“Hey!” Wade called after him as he walked away, and Hal turned. “What of Prince Emil? How is he?”

The three Poindexter’s watched as their young friend shook his head. “I killed him.”

Their faces fell.

“Hal...”

The prince shook his head again. “Hm, no. It’s fine.”

Then they watched as Hal joined the men in the back of the tavern.

Beck looked down at the empty jug the crown prince left behind.

There was blood on it.


	16. Chapter 15

Day 1

When Hal woke the morning after, first thing he registered was the everlasting pain in his body. He didn’t move an inch, held his breath and kept his eyes closed.

The pain was everywhere but that wasn’t anything unusual. Boiling bloodstream, aching joints, tense pain along his spine, burning arrowhead scar on his left cheekbone, jolting and contracting pain in his heart.

Then there was the added pain of the bruise on his left cheek, the stinging and burning of his palms, and the elbow.

What was unusual, however, was that the intensified pain from the day before was still there. Just not leaving.

Despite the consistent pain in every nerve of his body, the worst was always the heart. Every heartbeat, every contraction caused him pain. Especially in emotional circumstances. But after he’d killed his little brother yesterday the pain had only grown worse.

Was he dying inside, or was the pain in his heart becoming worse?

Hal thinks he must have known deep inside even then, on the way home from battle. Perhaps even before the question entered his mind.

He breathed deeply and burrowed his face further into his pillow. Hal needed to rise from the bed. He needed to... he needed to...

Inhaling forcefully, he opened his eyes and sat up, but it only made the migraine in his head worse; pulsing and beating against his head like a sledgehammer cracking his skull open. Hal grunted and reached up to dig his palm and rub the sleep from his eyes, but he dropped it in a celerity however, when he felt the crusted blood on his hand.

He looked down at the hands in his lap and traced his fingers along the pretty deep cuts in his palms.

“Hm...” he sighed.

Hal forced himself to move. He focused on that instead of the pain.

He pulled the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Then he just sat there for a moment, elbows on his knees, hands rubbing at his face before he slowly raised from the bed.

A bath. He needed a bath, so he made himself one, and when it was done, he leaned back in the water-filled tub.

Now, the process could have gone much faster if a servant had made it for him, but he preferred no one to be near him right this moment.

There were discoloured bruises all over his body, but the most prominent ones – predictably so – were on his cheekbone, across his back, his forearms, and the inner and outer part of his elbow. However, the elbow was by far the worst.

Hal spent the day alone, resting. But as he laid in bed that evening, he heard his door open, Tara speaking quietly before she left. Then he felt the presence of a lithe body beside him. 

Lucky.

And perhaps the child’s presence helped him focus on something other than the pain.

...

Day 2

As always, Hal was well awake before any other in the kingdom.

Lucky was still asleep when he left for his training session with William, which made him glad he’d told the four-year-old the evening before where he’d be.

Perhaps training wasn’t the best choice regarding his elbow, but Hal didn’t particularly care enough to do otherwise. Either way, wasn’t the pain and prolonged healing, something he deserved for breaking the promise he made himself and his mother by killing his own brother? Even just the act itself deserved punishing for.

So, if no one else was to do it to him, Hal would do the punishing himself. 

Perhaps that’s why he’d travelled to The Darkened Grove to meet with Charlton for another session of agonising pain to further build his tolerance for the gift of pain illusion specials possessed. And to do so, he simply needed to be put through their gift, repeatedly.

By evening, Hal was in the tavern. Clowning, drinking.

He’d taken to standing on one of the tables at one point, everyone watching as he mocked King Jacob with an exaggerated slur to his words. “My son, Haven,” he began. “It looks as if, despite my life nearing its inevitable end, it is you who looks worse than I... and it’s not just your clothes.”

The mocking continued throughout the evening; Hal pretending to be a drunken fool and everyone playing into it with the collective ignorance they all seemed to share, the ale making it that much worse.

In bed however, he was back to silently suffer in his nightmares.

The dagger pierced Emil’s heart.

The dagger pierced Emil’s heart.

The dagger pierced Emil’s heart.

Then again, and again and again and again. It never stopped.

...

Day 3

The prince turned his head and looked at the sleeping boy beside him, suddenly glad Hal himself never woke up crying or screaming from the memories that repeated in his nightmares.

Without fail, the same routine was done. Training with William, and then a session with Charlton.

Both tried and failed spectacularly when they told him to rest instead, but Hal would hear none of it. Perhaps it might’ve been slightly uncharacteristically rude of him to simply brush their worries off as he had, but he was the wayward prince, was he not? Good enough of an excuse there already.

Hal did admit to himself though; both sessions hurt incredibly, and only worsened his body pain for the rest of the day. But that was also the point as of recent, was it not?

When he returned, he collapsed on his bed without further ado.

...

Day 4

Same routine, except, instead of a session with Charlton, Hal spent the beginning of the day with Lucky. He taught the four-year-old how to better communicate through sign and tactile language; traced words, signed words, whilst speaking, and so it continued. It seemed Lucky never stopped finding the learning process enjoyable.

Still, because there was no session with Charlton, he’d taken to training for a second time, but alone, in the thin part of The Darkened Grove.

Usually, he would rather do without the pain, but he broke his own vow and went against a lifelong instinct of protecting his siblings. Due to that, to Hal, the intensified pain was partially comforting as it proved a great distraction from thoughts of Emil.

Then he’d taken to the fields in the Bloom Village.

His arms crossed, sword at his waist, Hal’s eyes never strayed from that one horse; a brown stallion with a white spot on the forehead.

Bobby, Emil’s horse.

When the stallion approached, Hal stroked his neck. Then his back... the back his little brother used to sit on. But Emil was gone now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and the beautiful brown stallion looked at him. “I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry.”

One last pat, and Hal left.

His heart ached, and so he took to the training fields at the Blossom Palace, miles away from civilisation.

When he shot an arrow that pinned a fallen pink cherry blossom to a tree, the only thing he could think of... his brother was like that cherry blossom; a youthful being with his entire life ahead of him, dead. Just gone, and Hal was the one to take it away.

Hal swallowed the lump in his throat.

It didn’t work.

Tears blurred his sight, but he wouldn’t cry. He screamed, and he screamed the loudest he’d ever screamed before. But it wasn’t enough; he took it all out on the tree nearest to him.

No one heard his anguish, and that was the way he preferred it.

When he returned to his home, Lucky was awake, and watching him before his blue-grey eyes moved down.

Hal followed his gaze; right hand, wrapped in linen, with blood seeping through the fabric. As he climbed into bed however, the four-year-old said nothing, and for a moment it was simply silent.

The only thing to hear was their quiet breathing.

“Lucky. Hm? What do you think of it?” Hal asked, whilst he traced the words on the boy’s palm.

"As a name?" Lucky traced on Hal’s palm before looking up at him.

“Hm.” Hal nodded.

"I like it."

“Then you want to keep it?”

Lucky smiled brightly and nodded eagerly.

“Then Lucky you are, hm,” Hal whispered.

"Thank you, Hal." Lucky hugged him tightly.

Hal wrapped his own arms around the four-year-old and sighed. “You’re welcome,” he whispered softly.

...

Day 5

Training with William.

A bath to cleanse his wounds.

The rest of his day was spent with Wade, Beck, Tara, William and Lucky, and in the evening, he spent his time in the tavern.

...

Day 6

By the time he awoke, Lucky was already awake.

"I want to come with you," Lucky traced on his arm.

“And if you grow bored?”

"I won’t," the four-year-old promised.

Lucky never became bored. In fact, he seemed to enjoy watching as Hal trained with William.

The session with Charlton didn’t last long because he’d taken Lucky along with him, and the boy really didn’t like it.

After the visit, Hal and Lucky had taken Gatlin to the fields outside the castle walls, where their communication teachings continued.

In the evening, Hal spent the night in the tavern, and this time, Lucky was with him. They sat in the corner of the tavern, away from the rest of the customers, the stools around the table occupied by Hal’s friends.

One moment he’d be there, teaching Lucky.

The next he’d be clowning with the drunken men across the room.

Then he’d be back with Lucky again until he was back to entertaining the men.

But at the end of the night, he simply sat with his friends, and enjoyed his time with Lucky, whilst he pretended like the pain coursing through his veins didn’t exist. He acted the ignorant fool people thought him to be.


	17. Chapter 16

Day 7

Pale hands clasped the hilt of the sword laid upon the black-haired man’s abdomen. Fingers absentmindedly scratched at scabbed knuckles, preventing them from healing as they began to bleed.

Pain pulsed and stung, but still, Hal continued picking at the bruises.

Tara had tried to tell him off from doing so, but each attempt at a reprimand was futile as he remained lost in thought. Eventually, the older woman had simply huffed in defeat and continued cleaning the tavern, alongside her niece and nephew.

Hal inhaled deeply from where he lay upon the rectangular bench as he stopped bothering his wounded knuckles, feeling the blood beneath his nails. He looked up at the ceiling.

The dagger pierced his little brother’s heart.

Blood seeped under his nails.

Emerald eyes blinked slowly as his empty stare never left the ceiling.

Hands clenched the hilt of his sword tightly, the cuts on his palms burning.

The doors opened then, but the prince upon the bench remained unbothered by the disturbance, unlike his friends, whose heads all snapped up at the noise.

Anwir stepped through the doors.

Hal intertwined his fingers over the hilt of his sword. From the corner of his eye, he watched a guard stand by the entrance to the tavern whilst another moved closer to the Poindexter family.

“Will you leave us for a moment?” Anwir asked then, though it was more of a dismissal, a demand.

“Sir, we need to clean before we open,” Tara said.

“I need but a moment with the prince,” he insisted.

Hal inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. “Let them do their work. I reckon you can speak to me with them all the way over there, yes?” He gestured in the vague direction of the Poindexter’s before he intertwined his fingers again.

“I suppose so, Your Highness...” Anwir cleared his throat. “...Please, forgive me. Keep working.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tara said. Then the quiet sounds of stools being moved, and the sounds of jugs knocking together was heard as Anwir moved closer to Hal.

“Prince Hal,” Anwir greeted.

“Hm.” Hal opened his eyes and looked upon the ceiling to show he was listening.

“Your father wishes to speak with you.”

Hal merely gave a small shake of his head.

Anwir sighed deeply. “I’m regretful to inform you; your father, the king does not have long now, and he wishes to have his last word with you.”

Hal’s heart contracted painfully then, then again, and again... Each heartbeat burned in his chest, but Hal simply made himself more comfortable on the bench as he closed his eyes again.

There was nothing to convey his current discomfort.

Now that Emil was dead, he’d be king.

Hal didn’t want to be king.

Anwir wasn’t deterred by his lack of response, however. “The day before, the king received a message...”

“Hm.”

“...It was the heads of your cousins...”

Hal held his breath.

“...Thomasin and Thomas. A gift from King Noah of Northenwinter.”

Abruptly, all sounds stopped.

He could feel all pair of eyes on him as he just laid there for a moment. But then he opened his eyes, slowly sat up and planted his feet on the floor as he held the hilt of his sword tightly. Its tip buried into the wooden floors.

Hal swallowed the sudden lump in his throat before he released the breath he’d been holding.

The advisor was leaning against the table in front of the prince.

“King Noah, say you?”

Anwir gave a nod. “Yes.”

Hal’s heart was steady, calm, but in pain. 

Though it was protected from the world, hiding behind his ribcage, the pain couldn’t be prevented. That pain was something far more complicated that his ribcage couldn’t spare him from feeling.

“Do you wish for me to escort you, Prince Hal?”

Hal was shaking his head before Anwir could finish. “No.” 

He was standing and out the doors before anyone could say another word.

Anwir stayed where he was, arms crossed as his eyes never left the place the prince had just occupied.

...

Bang!

Loud footsteps echoed off the corridors walls as they came closer and closer to the king’s bedchambers before the door was pushed open and Prince Hal stepped through.

Titus, the archbishop. Jason, the surgeon and physician. They were both in the room alongside a handful of other physicians, but Hal ignored them as he took a seat in the chair beside the bed.

He sat and he waited patiently, whilst the others simply stood at the foot of the king’s bed and watched.

A moment passed before the king opened his bloodshot eyes and looked at his son.

As the king laid there shivering in a cold sweat, the prince could see he was in a considerably much worse condition than he’d been the last time Hal saw him.

The fifty-two-year-old king was deathly pale. Horrid, red rashes was spread across his skin, but those on his face hadn’t been there eight days previous.

“Haven,” Jacob whispered hoarsely before coughing.

To Hal, it sounded like it hurt. So, he picked up the glass of water from the bedside table and helped the older man drink.

Only then did Jacob try again, “I’ve been told your brother has fallen in battle. Is that true?”

“Yes.” Hal nodded before taking a deep breath. “And Thomas and Thomasin also, hm. Anwir just told me of their death... told me King Noah did it.”

Jacob nodded. “Yes... it appears so, my son.”

“And it’s all because of the unnecessary battles... the unnecessary wars you’ve started... The war against King Noah has yet to end.”

“They were never unnecessary, Haven,” Jacob claimed.

“No?” Hal asked, brows raised.

“No,” he agreed now, but Hal knew better.

He remembered the letter, word for word.

-Firstly; there were another child when you were born, a twin. But you know that already.

What you suspected is true; only the stress and an early birth was what killed your twin. Not a special.-

Hal nodded. “Hm. When I was born, there was another child...”

Jacob looked away.

That was answer enough.

Hal nodded. “...You forced Clemente and Annot to abdicate, this I know... It caused mother a great amount of distress and thus, I be born... too early, but so was my twin, hm. He or she died, not because of a special, but because of your reckless actions which endangered everyone. Then... instead of mourning the loss of your child, you took advantage of it; blamed the specials for my twin’s death—”

“No.”

“—because of your hatred for them.”

“They killed my friend!”

“Your young friend accidentally caused the death of your other friend when you were seventeen. Your special friend was fifteen. He couldn’t stop because he was a young boy, who needed to be taught how to control the gift he was born with.”

Jacob was shaking his head, but Hal simply continued, “So, an accident, it was, but this mattered not to you, of course—"

“Haven.”

“—did it? No. And I realised the consequences of your hatred long ago. My first council meeting, I thought we would speak of what could be done to achieve the peace our people longed for. But no.” Hal shook his head. “You dismissed the advice of your court, and spoke of the battles yet to come—”

“No.”

“—and I could see it... the excitement... you longed not for peace, but for battles and death. That was the day I knew you would be the end of our people – well, unless something like this...” Hal gestured around them. “...happened.”

“Haven.”

“It was the day I realised why you falsely accused Clemente of treason.”

A collective gasp rang through the room.

“You never wanted me to learn the ways of peace, so you had your own father executed based on the lies you created. Even better; let’s teach Hal a lesson whilst we’re at it, shall we? Have the execution on your son’s eleventh birthday.”

“Haven.”

“In the Battle of The Beheaded Three, you cut off the heads of three specials children because you wanted to. They were no ploy in the battle.”

-Secondly; when King Jacob came back from the Battle of Arrowheads earlier than you, he told me to leave or face the punishment of death, because he knew of the life in my belly, and that it belongs to another. I know not how he knew or why he desired for me to leave so bad.-

Hal knew why. 

King Jacob wanted perfection and his eldest son was not it. So, the king sought to take away everything that was less than perfect – in his mind – about Hal. But Hal knew he could never be close to perfect in his father’s eyes, because he wasn’t a replica of Jacob.

Hal wanted peace, whilst Jacob wanted death and destruction.

-Anyway... I left because I feared dying, but most, I was afraid of facing you, so, I left with the father of my child before you returned from battle.

Forever I will be sorry for leaving you.-

“But then... why send her away, hm?”

“What?”

“What was the reason for sending Grace away?”

Hal just wanted him to say it.

However, Jacob was speechless.

Hal shook his head as his eyes watered. “Grace was unfaithful to me,” his voice cracked as his lip quivered. “So, you sent her away—”

Jacob nodded fervently. “Yes, yes. She deserved a far worse punishment, but I was lenient. I did that for you. I knew you wouldn’t want her dead, so a lesser punishment I gave.”

Even the archbishop and physicians in the room knew that was the wrong thing to say.

“—because you hated me...”

All was silent.

“...and you beat me down with words because you love the power... and you think me your biggest threat... your biggest enemy... and you love having whatever power over me you can.”

A tear fell down Hal’s cheek. 

His eyes were bloodshot and lips a darker shade of red than before.

“Why?” Hal’s voice cracked; the sound broken.

“Because you’re not the son I wanted. You’re not perfect and I hate you for it.”

Hal had known this already, had waited his entire life to hear this. Still, it didn’t make hearing his own father say it, hurt any less. But he finally said it and Hal just wasn’t expecting it to break his heart even further.

It was just an endless cycle of heartbreak and misery.

I’m not you and that’s why you hate me.

Hal’s heartache only worsened further as he had to watch Jacob’s eyes glaze over. “Haven, you—you must be king... You must be king, Haven. Promise me you will be king... that you won’t let anyone take the throne from you, from this family. You will be king, promise me, Haven.”

Jacob had forgotten what just happened; what he said, what Hal said, like the moment had never transpired at all.

I’m not you and that’s why you hate me.

“Promise me, Hal.”

I’m not you and that’s why you hate me.

The words were on Hal’s tongue, but... “I promise.”

Then Jacob’s face stilled.

His eyes grew empty.

His chest stopped moving.

Unseeing blue eyes looked at his eldest son.

For a moment, Hal just sat there in the silence of the room and looked back at those unseeing eyes. Eyes that always looked at him with hate wasn’t looking at him at all.

I’m not you and that’s why you hate me...

He never got to say it.

His fingers reached forward and closed his dead father’s eyes before he leaned back and just sat there for a moment longer.

I’m not you and that’s why you hate me... 

Hal inhaled sharply and slowly stood from his seat.

He moved to stand before the archbishop and the physicians, hand on the hilt of his sword as he took a deep breath. He was unafraid to show the tears that clouded his eyes.

No one had seen the new king cry, neither before or after his mother’s death. Only ever on the day she passed. Just that one time.

No one had ever heard him speak as much as he had just now.

So, as the archbishop and the physicians took a knee, and bowed their heads for their new king, they were stunned to silence.

“Hereafter, you will be protected by a new king... one who doesn’t let their emotions control them... shares their wealth... who never lies... by the son you so revile...”

The poorly hidden fear and astonishment that had the archbishop’s and physicians’ eyes widen conveyed that they’d been unaware their new king had known of their hatred towards him.

Jason however, he smiled.

“...But know this... I will bring peace to our people.”

Then the king walked out the door.

Whether they believed him or not didn’t matter. What mattered was that he showed who he said he truly was and did what he said he would to prove himself worthy of the crown.


	18. Chapter 17

It was like Hal had changed overnight.

His black locks of hair were no longer to his chin, but rather in a bowl cut, which had given the new king a more mature look. Especially with the scar on his cheekbone now visible.

This way, his emerald eyes were made more prominent too.

That’s the way he looked on his coronation day as he sat on the throne. He was wearing the king’s red royal mantel.

Hal had dreaded this day his entire life, dreaded the day he’d be the one wearing the mantle. He never wanted this.

Everyone silently watched the ceremony as the archbishop spoke.

The oath.

The anointment.

From the corner of his eye, Hal watched as Titus dipped his right thumb in the oil, and he acted unbothered by it. He did not want it, nor had he sought it, but the weight of millions of lives would officially be put on his shoulders anyway.

It had been put upon him the day before really, but what was to come would make it even more real.

Hal didn’t flinch when the archbishop traced WH on both of his palms - both still healing - before doing the same on his forehead.

He did let out an unheard and unseen breath when Titus removed his hand from his face, however.

His palms burned from the archbishop’s touch. It had left a lingering pain behind that he knew would stay for the rest of the evening.

When the heavy crown was placed upon his head, he could feel his heart ripping to shreds inside his chest.

Titus stepped back then and bent his neck in a bow. “All hail King Hal!” he said loudly for everyone to hear, and like an echo, the people repeated after him.

“Hail King Hal!”

“Hail King Hal!”

“Hail King Hal!”

Though Hal held his head high, his heart was in agony, and it only worsened the pain in his body. But he didn’t show a sign of discomfort.

...

King Hal’s brothers and sisters, cousins, uncles and aunts occupied some of the chairs around the U formed table in the Great Hall. Dignitaries and representatives, hereditary peers and their spouses from Kingdom of Eastland and Kingdom of Southblues occupied the rest.

The king of Westhaven sat at the head of the table.

“King Robert and Queen Amabel of Eastland presents this gift to King Hal of Westhaven,” the man read from the parchment in his hands. He was standing at the large table in the middle of the U table. It was filled with gifts.

The king’s elbows rested on the armrests of his chair; fingers intertwined as his thumbs twiddled.

To the untrained eye it might’ve looked like he was unaware of the action as the king seemed to look through the speaking man; his face unreadable, thoughtful even. But Hal was all too aware of it as it was the very thing that distracted him from the pain in his veins, unlike the man’s loud voice, which was simply worsening the migraine in his head.

The day’s events had taken its toll on him, not that anyone could see it. Hal hid it well, but as the day went on, the pain only grew, and the king grew quieter.

“King Oliver and Queen Florence of Southblues presents this gift to King Hal of Westhaven.”

There was only one gift left, but the man stopped and anxiously looked from the parchment to the king before he swallowed nervously. “Uh... there seems to be nothing from King Noah of Northenwinter, Your Majesty.”

Everyone looked at the king and waited with bated breath.

“King Noah, said you?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Their king nodded, but otherwise seemed unbothered. “Let us continue then, shall we?” He gestured to the last gift.

The man seemed momentarily stunned as he fumbled around before he finally looked back at the parchment. “Queen Callista of Westhaven presents this gift to King Hal of Westhaven...” the man trailed off in obvious confusion.

Every eye followed the king as he stood from his seat after a moment of silence.

He rounded the table, walked over to the man and held out a hand. “Let me see.”

The man handed the parchment over to his king, and as Hal looked down at the words, his heart gave a jolt of pain.

Queen Callista of Westhaven presents this gift to King Hal of Westhaven.

The words were indeed written by his late mother, Hal knew, but she was no longer. His beloved mother laid in her coffin in their family tomb, which begged the question; who had held this wooden box in their grasp for so long to give it to the rightful heir of the kingdom?

Emerald eyes searched the tables, though his head didn’t move an inch.

Who would his mother have entrusted his gift to?

One of his brothers or sisters? No, they’d all been children back then.

Maternal grandmother or grandfather? Not likely. They were older and could’ve been dead by the time of his supremacy.

What of his uncle, Silas Fay? Too young. He’d been born after Hal’s mother passed.

Uncle Alden Fay? There must have been someone closer to his mother.

Not Joseph Fay. The man was Callista’s brother-in-law.

Kate Fay.

His head raised then, and his eyes locked with those of Aunt Kate.

Hal’s heart contracted painfully because who else had been closer to his mother other than her older sister?

She smiled sadly, but still; her eyes crinkled with happiness.


	19. Chapter 18

“Ah, thank you. I—”

A gentle hand touched his arm then and he turned his head.

His paternal aunt-in-law was smiling back at him.

-Youthful faces flickered in his mind.

A young boy and girl. Twins.

Smiling one moment, and heads severed from their shoulders the next. Their faces were pale and covered in dried blood.-

“Excuse me,” Aunt Mildred said. “Could I have a moment of your time?”

“Yes, of course,” he said before he turned back to his company and said, “Well, it seems our conversation has come to an end. Thank you again. Hope you’ll have a good rest of your evening.”

The older man smiled back at him, wrinkles and all. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Hal nodded in acknowledgement.

The young woman seemed to falter however, barely able to keep the strained polite smile on her face. She glanced to his left, disgust in her eyes, and Hal followed her gaze and his eyes landed on that of his aunt-in-law.

This woman really thought he’d sleep with her.

That’s what the young woman wanted, he suspected. It’d been obvious to him from the moment he met her. She wanted him to know and make a move.

Hal wouldn’t though. He wasn’t that kind of person, and he was proud of it.

Either way, there was only one woman for him, and she was dead.

The reason behind the disgust in the Southern woman’s eyes when she looked upon his aunt wasn’t difficult for him to understand.

In the kingdom of Southblues, unlike Westhaven, the royal family always cast out the people married into the family once their husband or wife passed, unless they had living children.

His Aunt Mildred had been married into his family many years ago, and her husband – Uncle David – and their children had all passed on. But still, she remained in the family.

“Oh. But I, um—I thought maybe—”

“Ah, Lady Mildred wishes to speak with King Hal. Let them be,” the old man cut the young woman off.

“But—”

“Ah, ah, ah. Come on, young lady.”

As the old man led the younger woman away, Hal caught the knowing glint in the man’s eyes. Hm. The man knew the woman’s intentions too, then.

“Poor woman.”

“Hm.” He gave the parting young woman a brief glance before he turned to his aunt, and found her eyes were on the younger woman.

“That woman has her whole life ahead of her, and yet she wastes it lusting after men. What a waste.” She shook her head.

Hal found himself agreeing.

“Men too. Laying with anything on two legs. Even when married. Getting angry when women does the same, as if there was a difference,” Aunt Mildred continued.

Hal nodded.

Then she looked up at him, eyes fond and full of love and affection as she brought her hand up to cup his cheek lightly. “But not you.” Her thumb stroked his cheekbone, following the scar on his pale skin, and suddenly her eyes watered with emotion. “You’re different. Th—” she cleared her throat before she tried again, “My children loved you, looked up to you. You were such a great role model for them. Everything they aspired to be, everything I wanted them to be.”

Hal inhaled sharply at her confession as he frowned. His hand raised to cover her hand on his cheek.

Edward, Edmund, Darwin, and Thomasin and Thomas Ace, the twins. They shouldn’t have wanted to be like him. If they were, they’d have been miserable.

But they’re dead now. All of them.

The twins were killed two days ago now.

He'd seen their heads.

-Youthful faces.

Twins.

Heads severed from their shoulders.-

Before he could speak however, she shook her head. “I may not be related to you by blood and I may not be able to read you like I can others, but still, I know you. I know that you have a good heart, and if that’s what my children aspired to be, then I’m glad.”

If they wanted to bear a good heart inside their chest, great. But to want to be like him... there was just so much they didn’t know they were wishing for; painful things they didn’t know their older cousin was experiencing.

Aunt Mildred sighed then, and he lowered their hands to let her wipe the tears from her eyes with care. “Anyway,” she cleared her throat. “I just wanted to thank you.” His brows shot up in silent question. “For my suite here. I would not have been able to live in that... you know... on my own, now that—” she cut herself off, the words too difficult to speak.

But Hal understood.

He took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes. “Blood or not, you are family, Aunt Mildred. There is nothing I would not do for family.”

Mildred released the breath she was holding, and she smiled at him gratefully.

No words were needed.

“Is it to your liking then?” he asked.

She squeezed his hands as her smile only widened. “Even better; I love it.”

“Good.”


	20. Chapter 19

Fingers clenched the balcony railing tightly.

Muscles remained tensed.

Emerald eyes stared into the darkened night.

Hal breathed deeply.

He tried to alleviate the pain, but it wasn’t working. Not like days previous when it eased the pain in his veins. But this was not out of the ordinary; one day it’d lessen the pain, the next it’d worsen it.

It happened often; one day something worked, the next it just didn't. It changed constantly.

The pain always made the future uncertain; sometimes he just couldn’t get out of bed in the morning because of it.

Twiddling his thumbs wasn’t working any longer.

Twisting his ring gave him a sense of comfort but unfortunately, it didn’t ease the pain.

So, Hal simply settled for doing nothing at all.

His head turned, and over his shoulder, his eyes met Aunt Kate’s. She was dressed in her beautiful gown still.

The coronation ceremony had ended already; he’d thought she would’ve retired for the evening.

As much as he didn’t wish to be rude, Hal did nothing but look at her, for he knew if he spoke now, he’d crumble under the pain. That wasn’t him and he wouldn’t let it become him.

It just... it hurt.

It hurt.

It hurt.

Shooting pain, burning pain, aching pain, stabbing pain. There really were no words to truly describe the feeling.

Aunt Kate didn’t seem bothered by his silence however, as she only smiled at him and came to stand at his side as they watched the dark night sky together.

His tight hold on the railing didn’t cease. Instead, he didn’t breathe for a moment.

“Cheers!” she suddenly praised.

He glanced at her. She was smiling.

“You’re the king now. How does it feel, nephew, to be the ruler?”

Slowly, Hal released the breath he held. “I never sought for this. I never wanted this, never longed for the day...” he sighed. “...and now... the safety of this kingdom is my responsibility. These people... I must make sure they have a future, one of peace. You know, if I’d been told as a child, I’d be king at twenty-two I’d probably have laughed at the absurdity.”

Kate nodded and looked at him. “Would you have laughed though? You don’t laugh much. Never really did much of that, did you? If ever.”

Hal tilted his head. “You’re right; I wouldn’t have laughed. But I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“Understandable,” she said with a nod. “Westhaven has never had a king as young as you – in fact, none of the four kingdoms has ever had a king as young as you before. So, remember this...” she looked him in the eyes. “...you are not alone, nephew.”

He looked at her now. “Yet, in a way I am. There are things to kingship – most things in fact – that people do not know. Decisions that needs to be made which cannot be taken lightly.”

“You’re not worried you’ll tell anyone of the secrets about anything you, as the king, might know, are you?”

“No.”

A soft smile lit up her face then. “Thought so. You’ve always been a very private person. And I believe, that among many other qualities you have, makes you so strong, just like your mother said you would be. She’d be so proud of the man you’ve become.”

Hal shook his head, barely noticeable, but Kate saw.

“Do you know what Haven and Hal means?” she asked her nephew, voice soft as she looked at him.

“Safety. Army ruler and home ruler,” he answered automatically; his voice gentle in the night.

She smiled at him fondly, eyes crinkling. “Hal, you were her safety. You were the future ruler of your home, your kingdom.”

He just looked at his aunt for a moment as he found himself suddenly amused before he mused slowly, “I always thought Haven was from Westhaven.”

Her body shook slightly as she chuckled. “Yes. That was my first thought, too.”

“Hm.” Hal nodded before he looked back at the darkness in front of him.

“Hal...” Kate started slowly, cautiously, and he met her gaze. “That night... when she... what—what happened?”

He had half a mind to keep quiet because he knew what she was asking. No one knew the whole story, but didn’t she deserve to know? Her, his mother’s sister.

Hal sighed quietly and thought back on that night all those years ago, even as his heart constricted. “She was alone when I found her.”

-Small feet carried the eight-year-old crown prince passed the Blossom Palace library, but then he heard it; painfilled gasping breaths and grunts.

He stopped.

His brows furrowed... Wasn’t his mother in the library?

Then his eyes widened.-

“Mother just laid there... in pain.”

-“Mother!” he called out and hurried to her side.

Callista looked at her eldest son. “Hal! I—” she hissed in pain, grasping at her pregnant bump as her face contorted in pain. “I need you to help your mother, can you do that?”-

“She asked what of you?”

“Mother was delirious; she wouldn’t have asked if she wasn’t.”

-Only when it was dark did the birth end.

The prince was covered in his mother’s blood as he held his little sister in his gentle but protective arms.

“Ethel Ace.”

Hal’s eyes snapped up from his sister’s face to look at his mother.

Callista had a smile on her face now as she looked at her eldest and youngest with so much love. But then she gasped in pain; yet, still her emerald eyes shined brightly. “Hal, I—I need...” she swallowed. “...will you promise me to always protect them? Your brothers and sisters.”

“And love them,” he said. “Always. I promise.”

Her smile never wavered, even in her weakened state. “Of course, you will. You are such a good big brother, my dear boy.”-

“Then she was saying goodbye.”

-“I—” she gasped. “I love you, Ethel Ace.”

Callista held out her hand to her eldest son; her safety, her everything.

Hal’s tiny hand gripped hers tightly, as if willing her to stay, to not leave him.

“I love you, Hal,” she said, tears blurring the beautiful image of her son. “You are my heart, my little warrior,” she whispered lovingly before her ragged breathing stopped.

Her chest stilled as her hand went limp in her son’s, and the eight-year-old watched it all.

First his friend, Charlie, the German shepherd.

Now his mother, Callista.

His heart was breaking again.

“I shall protect you, little sister, until the day I die,” Hal promised for the eighth time as he looked down at Ethel.

...But then something happened...

Her chest rose and fell too quickly. Her nose flared in increased effort to breathe as she made small grunting noises.

This time his protective hold wasn’t enough because next thing he knew, Ethel stopped breathing completely.-

“Hm,” the hum he let out was strained now as Hal clenched the railing harder until his cuts burned. 

He didn’t want to think of it.

Kate’s brows furrowed. “What, she was about to die?”

Hal inhaled sharply. “Ethel couldn’t breathe.”

“So, how did she survive? How is she still here, Hal?” she pressed.

Hal worked his jaw for a silent moment before he turned his head to look at his aunt. “I saved her.”

“And no one knows... How...?”

He simply turned his head away and shook his head.

Kate nodded. “Then what?”

“Then I waited.”

“But it was not medical that came...”

“No,” Hal agreed. 

“But how did King Noah’s men get in?”

Someone must have let them in... But Hal didn’t say that. Instead he shrugged.

“I just don’t understand it...” Kate said then.

Hal looked at her. “Hm?”

She looked back at him. “How did an infant survive a month in captivity?”

“Hm, King Noah isn’t a brave man. If he was, he would have killed me and Ethel like he’d said he would...” he inhaled slowly. “...Ethel was with me the entire time. It seemed he wasn’t all too sure how to take care of a baby...”

Kate’s brows furrowed. “He has a daughter though.”

“Hm, I know.”

She looked at him in confusion. “Do you, now?”

“Hm.” Hal nodded.

“I thought you didn’t retain such information in your tavern days. Nor care for it.”

“I didn’t.”

His aunt shook her head. “I don’t understand...”

“I’ve met Princess Ella before.”

“What, when?”

“Before the Battle of The Beheaded Three had even begun...”

-“Your Majesty. What are you going to do with them?” one of the soldiers asked as he looked at the three tied up children.-

“...we came across three specials children, and that’s when I saw her walking towards our camp...”

-“They’re specials, and King Noah’s people,” King Jacob said; his voice distasteful. “And what do we do with such abominations?”

The soldier hesitated. “...We kill them?”

“We behead them.”

It was then the eighteen-year-old crown prince spotted her.

Hal snuck away as they started preparing for the execution.-

“Wasn’t King Noah looking after her? No! That isn’t even—what, what was she even doing there?”

“Hm, I wouldn’t know.”

“Tell me you got here out of there!”

“I did.”

-When he was close enough, he picked the girl up from the field before hastening past the treeline into the forest.

Then he put her down and kneeled before the two-year-old. “Hey.”

She looked up at him.

“I’m Hal. What is your name?”

“I am Princess Ella of Noth—noth.” She frowned when she couldn’t say the word.

Princess Ella of Northenwinter.

King Noah’s daughter.

He had a daughter.

Hal shook his head and said, “Let’s get you back to your father, yes?”

Princess Ella said nothing.-

“Wait,” Kate stopped him. “You didn’t walk into King Noah’s camp, did you?”

Hal gave a shake of his head. “No. I never left the forest. Just brought her there, then I left.”

His aunt sighed. “Good.”

He didn’t say any more, so Kate assumed there was no more to the story. Either way, she’d gotten her answers.

For a moment they remained silent.

Then he looked at his aunt. “Why did mother give the gift to you?”

Kate looked at him. “Your mother had already given birth nine times. She didn’t think she could survive a tenth...”

“Well, she was right about that.”

“You look just like her, you know,” she mused suddenly. “She would be proud of the man you’ve become, and she would have absolutely loved to see you as you look today.”

“Mother would have been delighted,” Hal agreed. A small smile lit up his face at the thought of the elation that would have overtaken her. 

Kate smiled too. “Yes... yes, she would have been. For at least one of her children looked like her; a male version of her.”

Then they remained quiet, whilst Hal’s thoughts drifted.

-Only when they arrived beside the enemy camp in the forest, and Hal put the princess on her feet did she wrap her short arms around his neck. “Pa does not love me. Pa does not love me. Pa does not love me,” she chanted as she clung to him.

Hal wrapped his arms around the small girl. “Hm, how do you know?”

“He does not hold me like you.”

The crown prince did care, very much so, but that’s just the way he was.

“I want to stay with you,” she said then.

“Well, it would not be very safe for you to be with me.”

“Why?”

“Because my father is a very bad man... But you know what?”

Princess Ella pulled back to look at him. “What?”

“I have a feeling we’ll meet someday, you and I.”

Her face brightened. “Really?”

Hal nodded. “Hm. So, you go back to your father, hm, and we shall meet one day.”

Princess Ella hesitated but then... “You promise?”

Hal smiled and interlocked their pinkies. “I promise.”

She smiled brightly.

“Now, go,” he urged, and as she walked on two wobbling legs, he watched until he was sure she was safe.

When he returned to camp, he was just in time to watch the beheading of the three specials children.

If King Jacob would have seen the enemy princess, he would’ve had her killed, but now, she lived to see another day.-

Hal looked at the moon.

Someday, the king thought.

...

Princess Ella looked out her window and watched the moon.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

Someday, the princess thought.


	21. Chapter 20

The moment fingers reached out to touch Lucky’s neck, the four-year-old flinched backwards, and Jason, the physician’s hands halted mid-air. 

Lucky kept his fearful gaze on Jason, watching the man carefully, cautiously. He didn’t want the man to hurt him— 

His young mind blanched suddenly, because why would a doctor want to hurt him? Why was he expecting to be hurt? 

He didn’t have the answers. All he knew was that he feared the touch of others but indulged in the comforting touch of King Hal. 

Jason’s eyes glanced behind Lucky, and the boy followed the man’s gaze. 

Hal was standing there, arms crossed; clad in black shoes, black trousers, and a white embellished doublet. His black locks of hair looked perfect as always; there wasn’t a strand out of place. 

Lucky was quick to look back at Jason. 

A hand on his own startled him, and he quickly looked down, about to rip his hand from... Hal’s hand? Lucky would recognise the golden signet ring on the king’s left pinkie anywhere. It had King Hal’s cursive signature on it. 

Then there were those scars on his friend’s palms... 

He looked up to see Hal had crouched down to his height beside him. 

Lucky hadn’t even heard the king move. 

As Hal’s pale hands enveloped his own, he could feel those large scars scraping against his skin. Lucky never did find out how his friend had gotten them. He just knew they weren’t there before that one battle. 

“Jason needs to see if there is any way to fix those ailments of yours, Luck.” 

Lucky shook his head as he could feel a silent panic crawl up his throat. But then his friend raised their hands and let the four-year-old trace his fingers along the scar beneath his left eye, and he could feel it; the raised skin. 

“You know not how I received this scar, no?” 

In his daze, the question startled Lucky, and his eyes widened. As he looked at his older friend silently, he slowly shook his head. He didn’t know the story behind the scar. He’d wondered, but never asked. 

“Not long ago, I partook in my tenth battle; the Battle of Arrowheads.” 

-In the middle of The Fields of Death and Despair, the sixteen-year-old crown prince stabbed the enemy in the face before he turned, and a sudden force collided with his helmed-clad-head. Instantaneously, Hal registered a crunching noise against his ear drum, an excruciating pain in his jaw, and a ringing in his ears, which drowned out the screaming and the clashes of swords that surrounded him.-

“It was only one of many bloody battles.” 

-Abruptly, he could feel air on his face and his eyes snapped open. He hadn’t even realised he’d screwed them shut, but that wasn’t what worried him. What did, however, was the raised visor and the sword surging at his face. 

Hal’s foot kicked forward and hit the enemy in front of him in their armour-clad-abdomen, but it didn’t only make the man fall; it also made the prince fall on his back.-

“But this one... it was unlike any of the battles I’d ever fought before... it was the closest I had ever come to death.” 

-Despite his current physical ailment, Hal was swiftly back on his feet with his own sword stabbing into the enemy man’s face. But just then, a hot, but intense and painful sensation erupted in his left cheek, which only worsened the excruciating pain in his jaw, and hastened his rising headache.-

“An arrow. That’s what caused this scar of mine. I did not know if it was friendly fire or if it was enemy fire. But it mattered not, because for the rest of the battle, I fought the hardest I had ever fought.”

"You continued fighting?" Lucky signed. 

“Hm.” Hal nodded. 

-Still, he fought on for his brothers and sisters, despite the pain, because of the pain.-

“After the battle, my fellow soldiers tried to aid me.” 

-Hal sat down on the bed in his tent. 

His jaw had been dislocated and an arrow had embedded in his cheek. 

Setting the jaw back in place before taking the arrow out would only risk moving the arrow and killing the prince, and that was a risk no one was willing to take.-

“Pulled on the arrow.” Hal gave a shake of his head. “Each man unsuccessful.” 

-The fifth soldier pulled, but it only made Hal’s mouth fill with blood he was unable to simply spit out because of his inability to move his jaw. So, the only thing he could do was swallow it.-

“Until the eleventh soldier... the eleventh attempt.” 

-Though each attempt was but a moment, to Hal it felt like an eternity. But then the additional pressure vanished, and there was a moment of elated cheers from the surrounding soldiers...-

“The soldier had pulled out the arrow... But something was amiss, and none of them noticed.” 

-For a moment Hal did nothing but stare at the bloody object in the man’s hand, the moment of merriment nothing but a bleak noise in his ears. 

Then he stood and ripped the piece of wood from his hand, and instantaneously, the soldiers turned to him. 

Hal raised his brows at them as he held up the piece for everyone to see, gave the soldiers a pointed look before casting the same look at the shaft of the arrow in his hand.

When he looked back at them, what he saw was more than disappointing because none of them were aware of what they were really seeing. 

There was a heavy, painful pressure pressing against his left ear. 

There was a pained tension in his face, jaw and neck. 

There was a hot, but intense and painful sensation just where his facial injury was, and around it, there was an aching pain. 

All movements, small or not, only made the pain worse, and because of that, his headache had changed to a severe migraine that pulsed painfully. He felt nauseous. 

He was exhausted from the battle, and he was in pain.-

“Not until I presented them with what the soldier was truly holding in his hand...” 

-Emerald eyes searched until he found what he was looking for and picked up the discarded arrow on the ground. 

The excruciating agony every movement caused him was unbearable. 

Hal held up both arrows and pointed at the arrowheads. 

The discarded one; nothing wrong with it. But the one which wounded him; something was amiss. So, to end his silent elucidation, Hal used the arrows to point at his wounded cheek and watched as his fellow soldiers followed the movement. 

He could see the moment realisation dawned on them.-

“...the arrow shaft without the arrowhead.” 

Lucky’s mouth was agape in awe; the four-year-old was completely rapt by the story his older friend was telling him. 

“And just when they were to make their twelfth attempt, the surgeon, the physician that had been called upon arrived.”

-“Stop, would you, please, sir!” a voice called out, and the soldier stopped. 

The breath that escaped Hal in that moment was outdrawn, harsh, and blood sprayed into the air, whilst some dribbled down his chin. It increased the burning pain in his jaw and throat, and only filled his mouth with more blood. 

Hal’s elbow rested on his thigh, hand hanging of it, as his other hand clenched at his knee in a white knuckled grip. He slowly raised his head, pain pulsing at his temple. 

The physician, he recognised as one of King Jacob’s. 

He remained motionless as the physician carefully tilted his head up by the chin to have a look at the injuries. Though the touch was barely even there, Hal still tensed in pain. 

“I must leave the jaw for last I’m afraid,” the physician observed “This wound appears deep. I would need something... a medical instrument of sorts able to pull the arrowhead out without causing any more harm than necessary.”-

“In the end, the physician had to make it worse to make it better. He enlarged the wound before successfully pulling the arrowhead out.” 

-Hal was awake through the agony; screaming incomprehensibly, panting so harshly blood dribbled down his chin.-

“Only then did he set my jaw back in place.” 

-Hal had his eyes screwed shut as he could barely breathe.-

“Then he cleansed my arrow-wound... Throughout the treatment of my injuries that day, I admit... I was afraid, and I believed I was going to die. But I lived; Jason saved my life.” 

Lucky’s eyes swiftly looked towards said physician. 

Jason smiled back at him. 

Then he looked back at his friend. “Jason is a physician. A physician saves lives, Jason saved mine... Do you trust me, Luck?” 

Lucky gave his friend a quick nod. 

“Then believe me when I say this... Jason wants to try and help you like he did me. Will you let him?” 

For a moment, Lucky thought about it, unsure. 

A tap on his hand caught his attention, and he looked back at Hal, who let go of his small hands and raised his own and signed, “I will be right here by your side the entire time.” 

“Promise?” Lucky signed back. 

All Hal did was hold out his pinkie, and Lucky smiled before interlocking his own with the king’s, and so, a promise was made. 

... 

“So, what is your professional opinion, would you say?” 

Jason sighed as he looked at his king. “Well... the amnesia... it’s likely Lucky’s memories might never return. Only time will tell. And there is nothing I can do about his inability to speak I’m afraid.” 

“Hm.” Hal gave the door to Jason’s quarters a glance. 

Lucky was waiting on the other side. 

... 

Lucky watched as the twenty-two-year-old king crouched down in front of him. 

“I had hoped there would be a way to restore your memories, perhaps help you speak. But Jason told me there was nothing that could be done,” Hal said. 

Hal cared for him. 

That was enough. 

“It’s okay,” Lucky signed.

Hal tilted his head. “Truly?” 

He quickly nodded before he flung himself into his friend’s arms. Hal’s arms immediately wrapped around his small body. 

Lucky smiled into his friend’s chest. 

This was the safest he’d ever felt; right here in Hal’s arms. 

... 

A man walked down the streets of the Bloom Village when a pouch hung at the waist of a woman caught his attention.


	22. Chapter 21

When the doors to the throne room opened, both Anwir and Mason turned to look at King Hal, whose hands were clasped behind his straight back as the king glanced between them. “Anwir?” he asked. 

Though standing in the king’s mere vicinity was an honour, Mason couldn’t help but feel underdressed, dirty in comparison to his king. It was bad enough he was already nervous to be in the king’s presence. 

“My King, Mason...” Anwir gestured to the man beside him. “...has some information he believes you would like to hear.” 

“Hm, and what is this... information?” 

“Your Majesty,” Mason started. “I saw Fitzroy Poindexter just now.” 

“’Just now?’” King Hal repeated. 

Mason gave a nod. “Yes, Your Majesty.” 

“And you know this is Fitzroy Poindexter, how?” 

“That night... at the Poindexter’s tavern, I was there with my father.” 

Nervously but curiously, Mason watched as his king tilted his head slightly before King Hal asked, “Your father... Are you the blacksmith’s son?” 

Mason was stunned but still he managed an answer, “Yes.” 

“That would make your mother... the goldsmith, yes?” 

Mason nodded now. “Yes.” 

“I remember; your father has been the blacksmith for decades now. I spent much time around him before you were born. Forging weapons,” King Hal voiced nonchalantly. 

Though Mason was itching to know more, the king had already turned to Anwir, leaned in and lowly said something imperceptible to the advisor.

When King Hal received a nod from his advisor, he turned back to the seventeen-year-old and gratefully said, “Thank you Mason. Good day.” 

Then Mason watched his king walk out the doors before Anwir handed him a pouch. “Payment for your helpful hand from His Majesty, the King.” 

What a story to tell. 

... 

-As Fitzroy walked away from the bar, his hand swiped its surface.-

Hal recalled that moment in the tavern; he’d seen it. 

A thief the man was. 

Fitzroy’s return, the loss of Ms. Mallory’s pouch of coins... a coincidence? Most likely not. 

When he caught sight of the older man, three children ran past Fitzroy. Could it be bad karma when it caused him to drop the pouch in his hand? Either way, the man deserved it. 

“Damned kids,” Fitzroy grumbled under his breath as he picked up the pouch. 

Hal could hear the clinking noise from inside it. 

“Enjoying those coins, are you?” Hal called out, simultaneously turning heads his way and startling Fitzroy, who turned to him quickly. 

“Uh...” Fitzroy looked down at the pouch in his hand. 

Hal merely held out his hand, and the older man obeyed and handed it over. 

He looked down at it as he turned it over in his hand and noticed the stray pieces of cloth around it. 

-“Um... there is two bands around it. A midnight blue and, um, a marigold one,” Mallory described.-

Not a coincidence then. 

“Why have you returned? Despite my advice not to.” 

“You didn’t banish me.” 

“But I did,” Hal was swift to disagree. “Though perhaps I shouldn’t have overestimated you, thinking you would understand what I meant. And now, not only have you returned unlawfully, you have resorted to stealing from my people as well.” 

“I haven’t stolen a thing,” Fitzroy insisted. 

“Then, what’s this?” Hal held up the pouch. 

“I didn’t steal that either. Like I said, I haven’t stolen a thing.” 

“No?” Hal raised his brows. 

Fitzroy shook his head. 

“Hm.” Hal inhaled slowly and remained quiet for a moment before he pointed at the older man with his occupied hand. “Well, it’s not you that took this, then?” 

Fitzroy smiled, and Hal watched as the man’s body instantaneously, visibly relaxed. “No, no. It must have been someone else, because—because I just found it lying on the ground, right here,” he pointed down on the ground below them. 

“Hm...” Hal nodded thoughtfully. “...Just like it was not you that took that boy... what was it? Fourteen years ago, now?” 

Fitzroy tensed then. “What—what boy?” he stammered. 

Ah, there it was. 

“How can you not know?” Hal asked. “It is common knowledge that King Noah and his men kidnapped me and my sister the evening Queen Callista passed.” 

Fitzroy backtracked, “Oh... Oh! Right, the uh... the um...” 

“Hm, I thought you were one of them,” he said nonchalantly. “You know, with your thing for taking things that are not yours. The pouch, or people... eight-year-old me perhaps...” 

Fitzroy went still, and Hal could only imagine the erratic beating of his heart. 

“It was disappointing when I did not get to kill you like I killed the rest of them...” he revealed. 

Abruptly, there was a pressure suddenly building up inside his body. 

-He was screaming and crying. 

The blood in the eight-year-old’s veins was boiling, boiling and boiling. It felt as if the skin, one layer at a time, was slowly melting off the child’s bones, prolonging the moment of excruciating agony. 

Hal was burning, burning from the inside out. 

It felt as if he was being burnt alive. 

An eternity. It felt like it continued like so for an eternity.-

This time was much worse however, because now he was already in pain. 

His spine, the scars on his palms, his elbow, his facial scar, his jaw, his ribs, the migraine in his head. All those previous injuries were burning as if he was just now receiving them at once. 

-“Feel like you’re dying inside?” Fitzroy asked the eight-year-old prince rhetorically.-

Hal was feeling it now; the sudden exhaustion, like he was being drained of his life for what felt like an eternity of pain and misery. But he knew it was but a moment, so he breathed through it, like those sessions with Charlton taught him. 

This was what the sessions were for. 

He could do it; he knew. 

Teeth chewed on the inside of his cheek as he met Fitzroy’s eyes, and he just had to imagine it... 

The never-ending ache in his body. 

The way his heart was torn apart as if by wild animals. 

The pain and stiffness along his spine. 

The burning of his scars. 

The migraine in his head pulsing, beating against his skull like a sledgehammer. 

Hal imagined it all together on his worst days, when he couldn’t even get out of bed in the morning because the pain was too much... 

...and abruptly, the burning stopped as Hal’s usual pain took its place. 

He could breathe easier now; Fitzroy’s pain illusion wasn’t deceiving his mind any longer. 

“...and not because of what you are; I’m not like the monarch before me,” Hal continued then. 

Fitzroy’s eyes were widened in disbelief. 

“No,” he said. “I was disappointed I didn’t have the chance to kill you for what you did to me. See, I knew there was something familiar about you that evening in the tavern when we first met... however, I only realised who you were when you tried to kill me.” 

“How...?” 

Hal knew what the man wished to know; how did you resist the illusion? How did me trying to kill you make you realise such a thing? But he ignored them both and continued, “Decade and a half later and I find out you are my friends’ deadbeat father – I mean nothing stops me from killing you, or telling them,” he sighed. “But... that has never been me, though has it?”

Fitzroy seemed to hold his breath. 

“I will not kill you, even though attempted murder is punishable by death,” Hal continued. “However, make no mistake... torture anyone, with or without your gift, you will be punished. Now, you are hereby banished from the kingdom of Westhaven and you are never to return. Do you understand?” 

“Understood, Your Majesty.” 

Hal gave a nod to the inner castle walls. “Leave.” 

Fitzroy obeyed without hesitation, turned around and started walking. 

“Fitzroy!” Hal called out suddenly, and the man stopped. “Son of the king... a name borne by the illegitimate son of a king. It becomes you.” 

Because who else would try and kill the son of a king, if not a man with such a name, Hal thought amusedly. 

As Fitzroy walked over the drawbridge, Hal turned to a nearby guard. “Follow him. Make sure he leaves.” 

“Your Majesty,” the guard said, nodded, and left to do as ordered. 

Hal just stood there before he inhaled and looked down at the pouch in his hand. 

He sighed. 

Now, to return the pouch to Mallory...


	23. Chapter 22

It was early in the morning when Hal stepped inside the Poindexter’s Tavern.

Tara cleaned the tables before putting the stools on top of them. 

Beck scrubbed the floors.

Wade cleaned the jugs.

“Hal, my young friend!” Wade called out with a smile on his face, whilst beckoning the king forward.

Tara and Beck stopped their individual tasks to look up and smile at him as he walked closer to the three and looked around causally, with his hands clasped behind his back.

He really didn’t miss his tavern days. 

It felt great to have no façade to keep up now.

“We haven’t seen much of you recently,” Tara spoke. “How does it feel to be king? Is it as you imagined it to be?”

“You seem... different...” Beck noted softly.

“Yeah,” Wade agreed easily. “It’s the clothes and the hair. We don’t have to call you Your Majesty now, do we? Or—or King Hal? Be formal with you and all?” 

Hal inhaled and shook his head. “Hm... It is as I imagined, yes. The only thing different is the title and what comes with it.” Being myself. “No formalities, I implore you. There is enough of it as it is.”

“Well, then,” Tara said, hand hitting the side of her leg. “What made you decide to grace us with your presence?”

Wade braced his hands on the bar and leaned forward.

“I happened upon Fitzroy yesterday,” he told them and watched as they seemed to wait with bated breath. “I sent him away. But what I found interesting... he possesses the gift to deceive the mind of others to make them believe they’re being burnt alive. Tried to use it on me—”

“Are you okay?” Tara cut him off worriedly, and Hal gave her a glance.

Her niece and nephew could potentially be executed for what they are, and still she worried for Hal? 

Even if Hal wasn’t his father, the laws remained the same, unfortunately.

He had to do something about that.

Hal gave Tara a nod. “Hm. As is known; the children of specials inherit the gene. Personally, I don’t care if you’re specials or non-specials.”

“But we are. Beck and I, we’re specials,” Wade told him then.

...

Sawyer looked at his friends and whispered, “Come on. We got to tell him.”

Wesley nodded determinedly. This was for Hal.

Wyatt hesitated though. Weren’t the Poindexter’s Hal’s friends?

“Come on, Wyatt,” Sawyer urged the youngest of them, and pulled him along as they ran from the tavern.

Wyatt forced all the hesitation from his mind and followed his older friends.

...

“Aunt Tara isn’t, and neither was our mother. What would that mean? For us, I mean. And—and how are you so calm and indifferent about this? How can you not care? Your father—”

“I’m not him,” Hal cut him off. “I have always disagreed with him... on many things. Him and I had many problems and that is just one of them. If I did not agree with him, I... my opinion did not matter, alright, and, hm... there were many things only I knew of the man and our relationship; many things we disagreed on and one of them... specials.”

“But...” Beck trailed off.

Hal shook his head. “No buts. That is the way it is, always has been. Nothing, no one can change that – I mean, Jacob tried it with me but...”

“But he did not succeed,” Tara finished with a smile on her face.

“No, he did not,” Hal assured them, and the three Poindexter’s smiled at him.

...

The Poindexter’s were specials and King Hal had banished the father.

“The Poindexter’s are specials. They will only hold King Hal back from following in his father’s footsteps,” their mentor said. “Do it.”

Wyatt and Wesley shared a look, unsure. What did he mean?

Sawyer however, he stood there unbothered.

“Sir?” Wyatt asked.

“Kill them.”

...

“Amelia, go!” Isla shooed her friend away in the darkness of the night.

“Alright,” her brunette friend gave up between breathless giggles. “I just worry, Isla. I want you to make it home safe.”

“And I appreciate that, I do. But I will be fine, okay?” Isla reassured. 

Amelia gave a defeated sigh. “Okay.”

“I got to go home before sunrise. I do not want mother and father to find out I have been sneaking out after dark.”

Amelia smiled amusedly. “We have been doing this for years, Isla.”

Isla smiled back. “Well, I do not want them to know that.”

They laughed.

“I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. Goodnight, Isla.”

“Goodnight, Amelia.”

As Isla turned and started her walk home, she tried to be as quiet as she possibly could, but halfway there, she stopped abruptly. She squinted at the moving shadows ways ahead of her.

People.

One... two... three.

What were they doing?

Isla looked behind her as she thought, but her curiosity won, and she followed behind them.

Her brows furrowed when they stopped outside the Poindexter’s tavern. 

She peered out from behind the wall and strained her ears to listen.

“...not know... perhaps... should not...”

Why did that voice sound familiar?

“Should... what, Wyatt?”

Isla’s eyes widened. It couldn’t be... could it?

“Look... we... do this. Tell him Wesley.”

“...know... he said... Sawyer is right.”

Wyatt, Sawyer, and Wesley. 

Isla knew the three were King Hal’s friends.

When they entered the tavern and closed the door behind them, she crept up to the door and pressed her ear against it.

It was silent for a moment.

An ear-piercing scream came from inside the tavern, and Isla gasped softly, quickly slapping a hand to cover her mouth.

Then the scream stopped abruptly before there was a loud thud.

Isla held her breath.

It happened again.

“Where is he?” Sawyer asked suddenly.

Isla moved her hand away from her mouth. Her breath trembled as her heart pounded in her chest and tears blurred her vision.

“I don’t know,” Wesley responded.

“Well, we got to find him then,” Sawyer declared.

“Uh, Sawyer!” Wyatt called.

“What?”

“The sun’s rising.”

“We need to leave before anyone sees us,” Wesley said.

“No, we need to kill Wade. Remember what he said,” Sawyer argued.

Isla’s breath hitched.

“Do you want to get caught?” Wesley retorted.

For a moment no one said a thing.

“...Alright,” Sawyer agreed. “Come on, then.”

Footsteps moved to the door.

Closer... closer...

Isla hid quickly and listened; a door opened before it closed. Then three pairs of feet walked away.

When she couldn’t hear anything, she slowly walked to the door of the tavern and opened it.

The sight almost made her barf as her lower lip trembled.

She needed to tell someone, so Isla turned on her feet, stumbled out of the tavern and ran as she screamed, “Help!”


	24. Chapter 23

When Hal entered his office, he caught sight of a young teenage girl; her blond braided hair trailed down her back, her green eyes were bloodshot, tears streamed down her flushed cheeks and her body trembled.

She was completely traumatised.

Hal glanced at his advisor, who’d closed the door behind them. “What is this?”

Anwir looked at the girl. “Isla, tell King Hal what you told me.”

Isla sniffled and swallowed before she spoke, “Your friends killed them...”

Hal’s fisted hands on his waist tightened. “Who killed who, hm?”

“Wesley, Sawyer, Wyatt. They killed them. They killed Ms. Tara and Ms. Beck...”

A jolt of pain seared through his heart, but he remained calm.

Isla shook her head. “Look, you have to believe me, King Hal. I am telling you the truth. You can even—”

“No, I believe you,” he cut her off truthfully.

Her eyes widened. “You do?” Her voice was hopeful as she looked up at him.

“Of course, I do,” he reassured Isla before he turned to Anwir. “Um,” he murmured suddenly feeling as if his mind was empty of thoughts and full of too many at once.

“What is it, my King?” Anwir encouraged him.

“I am to see this for myself,” Hal said as he moved to the door. “But you, you get Isla back home.”

...

The doors to the tavern was already open.

When Hal entered, he inhaled deeply at the sight.

Tara and Beck both laid in a puddle of their own fresh blood. 

He crouched down beside his friends’ bodies to graze a finger against their hands; they were cold. Their skin was pale too.

His eyes swept over the blood coated clothes and skin... the wounds. They looked familiar, like that of an axe. He’d seen such wounds inflicted upon people before.

He stood, turned in a circle as he searched, but there was no axe to be seen.

Hal stepped over the bodies and made his way through the tavern. But it was only when he entered the sleeping quarters that he found the murder weapon; a bloody axe carelessly discarded on the floor.

There was no Wade though.

Abruptly, he turned and walked back, where Sirs Matthew and Humphrey waited for him.

“Sir Matthew, take some knights with you, arrest Wyatt, Sawyer and Wesley for the murders of Tara Poindexter and her niece Beck Poindexter,” he ordered. “Sir Humphrey, have someone take care of the bodies, and to handle them with care.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Sirs Matthew and Humphrey chorused and nodded before they left to carry out their individual orders.

Hal looked down at his dead friends.

...

They barged into the room, making Wyatt’s eyes widen. “What’s going on?” he exclaimed.

“Wyatt, you are hereby under arrest for the murders of Tara and Beck Poindexter,” Sir Matthew announced, and Wyatt stopped struggling against the knights arresting him.

...

“Wesley, you are hereby under arrest for the murders of Tara and Beck Poindexter.”

...

“Sawyer, you are hereby under arrest for the murders of Tara and Beck Poindexter.”

...

Every breath Wade took trembled, and the only thing holding him up was the wall he leaned back against.

He clenched his hands tightly to try and stop them shaking before he released them, but it only made it worse.

Though he strained to hear outside the door, the only thing he could hear was the screaming.

-The shrill scream of his little sister.-

Wade shook his head.

-This time it was his aunt that screamed and scream—-

He shook his head a second time.

-Both screams started to blend together into a much higher octave. It lasted longer this time too.-

Another shake of his head.

-Aunt Tara was screaming. 

Then his little sister Beck was.

But then they were both screaming, united.-

Wade slapped a hand against his temple.

-High-pitched screams.

His little sister.

Aunt Tara.

Both were screaming—-

Then a creak filled the silent home, and the screaming stopped.

Wade pressed himself further into the wood behind his back and waited with bated breath as the door was pushed open.

It was them.

He watched as one foot passed the threshold... 

...then a second, and he lunged from behind. Before he could wrap his arms around the person’s throat however, a hand had already pushed his right arm away. Then the person proceeded to grab his left arm and twist it behind his back before pushing him against the wall.

“Wade, stop it.”

That voice; he could recognise it anywhere.

Then he was let go, and Wade turned quickly to see Hal.

Suddenly, the swift reaction of his supposed attacker made sense, because it was the best warrior the world had ever seen that was standing before him.

Either way, the thought it couldn’t have been Wesley, Sawyer or Wyatt should’ve already crossed his mind, because it was a well-known fact the three didn’t have any experience in combat.

Hal was only holding one hand up, and not in the surrendering type of way, but rather as if he knew he had done enough for Wade to stop – and of course, he knew, because when did his friend not know something?

“Hal?” he asked anyway. He was panting slightly now, the events from the early morning finally catching up to him.

His friend gave a nod in reply.

“My, uh... they... they are...” To mention the death of his family or the despicable murderers first didn’t seem to matter either way, because his mouth didn’t currently function properly as it was unable to form actual words.

But Hal seemed to understand because he nodded. “I know. I saw.”

For a moment Wade’s shoulders slumped in relief, but then he remembered, and he looked at Hal. “No, but—yes—no, I mean—” he shook his head in vexation and slapped a hand against his forehead, once, twice, thrice and a fourth time as he tried to think clearly.

When that didn’t seem to work however, he wrung his hands together as he felt very unlike himself.

“I know,” Hal repeated, but Wade shook his head again.

“No,” he said. “They, they... they,” he broke off as a frustrated noise escaped his mouth.

Why was it so hard to speak? Wade loved to talk, he did it all the time. He loved his and Hal’s conversations, and the way someone besides his family finally found him interesting enough to want to be his friend. The way someone finally could keep up with him, tolerated his never-ending ramblings.

“I know. I know what they did.”

Wade’s hands stilled suddenly at that and he met Hal’s gaze.

“I wish I would have known – I mean, how did I miss it?” Hal asked, eyes flicking between Wade’s. “They were my friends... How could they... how could they do something like this, hm?” Hal gave a tilt of his head.

Hal was finally, for the first time since he became Wade’s friend, visibly showing the way he was truly feeling, and that, in this moment was grief. All it took was the murder of Tara and Beck committed by his other three friends.

“I am so, so very sorry, Wade...” Hal told him then, softly, lowly. “...so sorry.”

Wade slowly walked closer to his friend and hugged him. Hal’s still raised arm wrapped around Wade’s shoulder and the other around his middle.

“So sorry. So, so, so, sorry,” Hal mumbled quietly into Wade’s shoulder.


	25. Chapter 24

Only when they pulled away did Wade make a double take.

His friend was dressed in his signature black shoes and black trousers. Hal wore a black tunic without a belt, which suited his sense of fashion because of the disarrayed look of it; something others considered unbecoming and messy for a royal. However, on the king, it was a perfect fit; something others couldn’t nor wouldn’t try and pull off.

Whilst Hal’s beloved black blade was strapped to his leg, the only non-black he wore was his accessory; the golden signet ring.

“This look... it reminds me of the young wayward prince that walked into the tavern for the first time,” Wade mused then, as they sat down on the stools in front of the fireplace.

Hal decided to indulge Wade and give him this moment of distraction. So, he looked down at his clothes and agreed, “Hm, I suppose. Though, it hasn’t changed; just been refined. No more of those kaleidoscopic doublets for me.”

Wade blinked. “No more... Yeah, I’m just going to pretend I know what that means.”

“Hm.”

“How long ago was it now?”

“Seventeen, I was.”

“Good times those were, were they not?”

Hal tilted his head.

Though the drinking and the clowning had been part of the king’s façade, his friendship with Wade was genuine. Perhaps not in the beginning, but he’d came to enjoy the thirty-five-year-old man’s company. Thus, when Hal became king, he hadn’t let go of the Poindexter family like he had the tavern and his past ways.

“They were,” Hal agreed.

“Why did you come to the tavern that day, anyway? You never said.” Wade’s brows furrowed. He’d always wondered but never asked, and given the person he’d been talking to, he didn’t think it appropriate. Then he never asked, even as they became friends.

“Hm...” Wade watched as Hal sighed, rested his elbows on his thighs and his fingers intertwined as the king looked at him. “...As you may recall, there were no news of King Jacob for quite some time after we returned from The Battle of The Withered King.”

“Yeah, I remember. I don’t think anyone has forgotten anything about your first battle after the Battle of Arrowheads.”

Hal nodded. “Hm, well, he was suffering an unknown disease... some deadly skin disease that began during the battle, hence its name. It reminded me that my ascension was near; it was coming closer more swiftly as Jacob progressively grew worse.”

“You really didn’t want to be king, huh, Hal?”

Hal shook his head. “Hm... no.”

“Yet, here you are.” Wade gestured to his friend. “King Hal.”

“I would think, wish for my time to never come. That, like most, I would become king when I was older. In my late fifties, sixties, seventies."

“The royal families of the four kingdoms do all get that old before ascending,” Wade agreed. It was true; there hadn’t ever been anyone younger than that to ascend any of the thrones. “I suppose this is one of those ‘life is not fair’ moments?”

“Hm.”

For a moment they remained silent, but then... “How did you find out about...?”

“A teenage girl heard it all. I was awoken quite abruptly by Anwir.”

“And of the boy? Where’s he?”

“Lucky’s with his maidservant, Sophia.”

Then they sat quietly again, just embracing the comfort of each other’s presence.

Hal twisted the ring on his pinkie. “Wade... you were there...”

Wade inhaled sharply.

“Did you hear if they said anything?”

Wade shrugged. “I mean, I do... What...”

“I need to know if they said anything. There must be a reason... Something must have prodded them to do what they did. I just need to know, to understand.”

“You’re not trying to justify—”

“No. No, absolutely not,” Hal reassured him. “They are going to be punished for what they did.”

Wade shook his head, feeling a bit sceptical of one thing... “But they are your friends...”

Hal shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. They are to be treated and punished fairly, for their crimes like everyone else. It doesn’t matter if I know them or not, whether they are someone close to me or a stranger. I promise you this,” he said sincerely, voice gentle.

Wade visibly slumped in relief. “I didn’t doubt you but—”

“No, I understand.” Hal really did understand.

“You do?” Wade made sure. 

Hal gave him a nod. “Of course.”

Wade sighed. “Good.”

Then Hal raised an eyebrow at him.

“Right. Um... they mentioned someone. A, uh... him. Yeah, uh, they said, ‘we need to kill Wade. Remember what he said.’”

Hal’s brows furrowed.

Who wanted the Poindexter’s dead?

Who would Wyatt, Wesley and Sawyer listen to beside their king and friend?

There was Anwir.

The council.

King Hal.


	26. Chapter 25

-We need to kill Wade. Remember what he said.

We need to kill Wade. Remember what he said.-

Hal needed to find the man who told his former friends to kill Tara and Beck, but which one of Wyatt, Sawyer and Wesley would have been the most hesitant to follow through with the order and commit the crime? That is the person who would be more willing to give up the man’s name.

He didn’t have the answers though.

Now, he could ask Wade if he heard anything more of what the three said before he escaped, but his friend couldn’t even distinguish whose voice was whose, and understandably so.

Hal thought Isla might be of help, and though he’d prefer not to ask her, he knew he didn’t have much of a choice. She was the only witness, and he needed to find the person behind it all to fairly punish the man. Or woman.

Thus, he went to find her in the Bloom Village, where he’d been told by his advisor she lived. 

As he arrived at the fields in the village, he saw her feeding the horses when she should be resting after what she’d heard that morning. She should get to grasp what had happened, let her take her time and deal with it properly.

Isla was but a teenage girl.

“Back to work already, hm?” Hal greeted her when he was close enough.

Instantaneously, she turned to face him quickly before she curtsied and greeted him, “Your Majesty.”

“How old are you, Isla?”

Her answer was quick. “Fourteen, Your Majesty.”

“Let us circumvent the formalities then, shall we?”

Isla hesitated for a moment. “...If you wish.”

“I do,” he answered coolly. “It gets a bit... repetitive.”

“You do not like it, then?” she asked curiously.

“Never did,” he replied. “But yet, I know it will not change just because I think it dull.”

Isla smiled at that. “But you are king though. Could you not... make people call you something else?”

Hal gave a shake of his head. “It is not so easy.”

“Why not?”

“Your Majesty is a title of respect used to address a monarch. Same way we use the terms Sir and Ms. It’s polite, too. If people called me by my name it would imply a close relationship, or perhaps it would be a sign they do not see me as their king.”

Isla nodded, signifying her understanding.

“Isla, I have to ask,” Hal started. “Did you hear any conversation between Wesley, Wyatt and Sawyer this morning?”

Isla inhaled a breath before slowly nodding. “Um, yes.”

“Can you tell me anything you remember of it? Anything at all?”

“Um... I think Wyatt tried to tell them they should not do anything, but I’m not sure. I could not hear that well. Sawyer seemed; I don’t know... adamant to continue.”

Hal nodded. “And Wesley?”

“He seemed to agree with Sawyer,” Isla recalled.

Hal’s heart gave a jolt of pain at this.

So, not Wesley, and not Sawyer. 

...

As per the king’s request, Sir Matthew had separated Sawyer and Wesley from their younger friend.

So, when Hal came to a stop at the cell, Wyatt was alone.

Hal nodded to the guard, and as the man walked away, Hal had his head turned to the side as he listened to the footsteps slowly fade into nothing.

Only then did he turn to look at the nineteen-year-old, who stood from the stone floor and stepped closer. The shackles around his wrists jingled and clinked against one another with the movement. “Hal,” he breathed out.

“Wyatt.”

He watched as his former friend seemed to sag in relief. “I am so sorry, Hal. I didn’t want to do it.”

Wyatt did show genuine repent as he pleaded for Hal to believe him.

“But you did it anyway,” Hal didn’t miss a beat. “And nothing quite hurts like betrayal.”

Wyatt seemed to wince at that as the truth of Hal’s words hit the younger man.

“I was not naïve enough to think it would ever stop happening to me, that it would ever stop hurting when it did. And after so many of them, you think perhaps you’re prepared for the next betrayal, for the hurt of it... but truth of the matter is... you never are. Betrayal is, as I have come to know, done by someone close to you...” Hal gave an offhand shrug just then. “...so, perhaps I should not really be astounded you have come to be one among many before you; one of the biggest mistakes and disappointments in my life.”

It was silent for just a moment but then... “I... am so sorry, Hal,” Wyatt whispered, yet it seemed so very loud in the dark dungeon. “I—I know I can never make up for what I’ve done—”

“No, you cannot,” Hal interrupted. “Neither can you undo it. But what you can do is tell me who ordered you and Sawyer and Wesley to kill them... Tara and Beck, they deserved to live, but you took that choice away from them, so tell me the name so they can be given the justice that they deserve. Don’t deprive them of that.”

Hal almost didn’t say their names. It was unbearable. His heart never, for even a moment, stopped jolting in pain every time it beat inside his chest.

All he wanted was to lay in his bed and never leave. But alas, he couldn’t do so.

He was the king, and he kept on repeating such in his head because it strengthened his resolve to push through until evening. Only then would he be graced with the peace of sleep.

I am the king.

I am the king.

I am the king.

Wyatt looked down, and Hal felt a sense of dread overcome him, because he knew that look. The nineteen-year-old knew the identity of the man would only cause the king more hurt.

“It was...”

Hal knew that look.

...

Lucky took another bite of his lunch as his gaze never left the empty seat on the opposite end of the table.

Sophia had said the king wouldn’t be there for the meal.

...

I am the king.

With such a title came a whirlwind of emotions that would overwhelm anyone, situations that would overwhelm anyone. But a king must stay calm, because a calm king kept his people the same.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Hal’s heart had been broken again.

Tara and Beck’s death.

Not only was he betrayed by three of his friends, he’d been betrayed by another as well. 

King Hal’s heart was broken beyond repair.

However, Hal breathed through the agony. He tilted his head down to stare at the dark wooden floors as his elbows rested on his thighs. There was a hidden misery behind his emerald gaze.

The beating heart inside his chest was aching. It had been beaten down by a lifetime of everything that hurt.

Hal had borne the invincible weight of the king’s crown for twenty-two years, dreading the day the crown would sit on his head, the weight no longer invincible. But now it was there; solid, heavy, visible. Shoulders weight down and burdened by the safety of a kingdom of millions of people.

Tara and Beck had been a part of his people, and he couldn’t even keep them safe from his own three friends.

It left two hollow spaces inside his heart and soul. Just two of many already there, and many to come. 

Another hollow space had already begun digging a hole inside his chest...

...

A soft knock, and Anwir looked up from his parchment of paper to see King Hal standing at his open door before the young man entered.

Anwir quickly put down the quill in his hand as he stood from his chair and walked around his desk. “Ah, King Hal. I’ve been expecting you.”

He watched as the king’s brow raised as he moved to sit on the window-seat whilst simultaneously asking, “Oh, have you?”

“I figured, with what has happened, you would want guidance. I mean... they were your friends and betrayed your trust. I imagine you know the decision cannot be taken lightly—”

“What decision?” King Hal cut him off.

Anwir blinked.

Only then did he take notice of the king’s attire. It hadn’t changed since that morning.

The black blade strapped to the king’s leg was barely visible. King Hal never went anywhere without it, not even in his tavern days.

The absence of a belt around the king’s waist made the black tunic look large and airy as it reached the middle of his thighs. Because of the absence of the belt, there was no sword.

Anwir knew the four royal families didn’t consider a tunic without the belt proper for royals. Nor would they dare try it for themselves. Mostly because the seemingly unkempt look of it was the opposite of the pristine look they presented. But there was no one that complained about that style being worn by the king of Westhaven, because he could pull it off. He made it look good, and he made it look the way royals strived to show themselves; neat, sophisticated, presentable, respectable.

There was an air of power that always exuded from the king nowadays. As well as a silent confidence in his very soul, the way he portrayed himself, his posture that everyone could see.

It’d only been a few months since the coronation, and since the wayward prince became the dutiful king. How had he changed so much so quickly?

Perhaps the title of supremacy was what the king had needed to mature, to take on the responsibilities of his title.

Anwir didn’t know. But what else could it have been?

“Wyatt, Sawyer and Wesley. They committed an unacceptable crime. Surely, you must understand a punishment is to be carried out.”

“Hm,” Hal agreed with an almost imperceptible nod, though said no more.

“Despite the history between you and them... you must deal with them accordingly, like you would a stranger.”

When Hal did nothing but look at him, Anwir continued, “King Hal, you must forgive yourself for the blindness that let others betray you. Sometimes you cannot see the true character of a person until they reveal it to you.”

“Like you, then?”

Anwir blinked, startled at the king’s words, and even though he remained calm, he couldn’t ignore the tense and uncomfortable atmosphere in the room.

“Pardon me, My King, I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

He could see it now; the knowing glint in the king’s eyes.

“’My King, I’m not sure I understand,’ you say,” King Hal mocked him, not rudely nor cruelly. Just honestly, factually. “’Prince Hal, when you are to be king, I will always be there whenever you may need it,’ you say.”

Anwir did indeed remember making that promise, just the way the king said it; word for word, in that voice, in that way.

“’Prince Hal, you can trust me. King Hal, you can trust me,’ you say.”

Anwir had said it and meant it all. “I remember. Those promises still stands.”

“Hm, but see, therein lies the conundrum that puzzles me,” the king said, accompanied by a nod. “You say and you say but your actions contradict your words.”

It was now Anwir felt his heart start to beat a little faster. “King Hal, what are you implying?”

His Majesty didn’t answer. Just looked at him head on, fearlessly, steadfast.

“Have I not stood by your side since you became the king of this kingdom?” he continued to ask. “My King, I assure you—”

“Please.”

“—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Anwir, stop it. Stop with this front of yours.”

“King Hal, I truly don’t understand.”

“Please, stop it!”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, stop it! Bloody hell! Will you stop this façade already!” King Hal cut him off calmly, just an octave higher than usual, but still not loudly. Not a scream, never a scream. 

The king had never been loud, not even as a child.

Still, it startled Anwir. But not enough to stop the frustration, the nerves and the wildly beating of his heart of the confrontation from getting to him.

“Did I not give you what you wanted, My King?” Anwir burst out loudly, unlike his king.

That was enough of an admission of the advisor's guilt and he knew it.

“What I wanted?” King Hal stood from his seat. “Why would I want this?”

“You banished the father, one of them,” his voice was filled with disdain.

Though he didn’t say, King Hal seemed to understand what he meant. “Not because of what they are.”

“A king has no friends!”

“And what of you and Jacob?”

Anwir knew the king was right, but he didn’t waver. “They will only hold you back!”

“From what?”

“From following in your father’s footsteps!”

Anwir was too caught up in his overwhelming emotions to notice, but Hal recognised the way of his advisor’s speech; like reading from a book. To Hal, it sounded like a repetition of words said before.

“Betrayed me is what you did.”

All that followed was silence as Anwir finally calmed and looked at his king. He shook his head.

He didn’t betray his king. He did the right thing, like he’d always done as the advisor of the king. Anwir knew that to be the truth.

“That seems a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think, My King?” A weak smile accompanied his words.

“Treason against your king, no.”

Anwir slowly took a step closer to the king, the action unsure and uncomfortable. “My king, I did what was best for the kingdom. For the people. I did what I’ve always done; served my king.”

Hal knew the older man meant what he said. However, he could also see that he didn’t know the true meaning behind his own words.

“Precisely. You do what you’ve always done. Served your king.” 

Anwir nodded in relief, but then... 

“King Jacob.”

Anwir’s heart dropped.

“And I’m not him.”

“Your Majesty—”

Anwir didn’t even notice his immediate change of address for the king, but Hal did.

“Something I’ve learned about people...” Hal cut the man off. “...if they do it once, they’ll do it again.”

Anwir didn’t see it, but next thing he knew, a blade had pierced his chin and he was choking on his own blood. His widened eyes stared at King Hal.

Then his eyes moved down, but he could no longer see the blade that had been strapped to the king’s leg.

He choked on his own breath before he crashed to the floor.

Anwir had the king’s friends murdered. The punishment fit the crime.

Hal sat down on the window-seat and watched as Anwir slowly died. Only when his body stilled did Hal feel it; the hollow space in his heart had been dug.

Three more to go.


	27. Chapter 26

Wesley’s head fell.

Sawyer’s head fell.

Wyatt’s tears streamed down his cheeks as he trembled in fright of what awaited him. But the moment his gaze locked on those familiar emerald irises, he accepted it, because that was his older brother that he was looking at. He wasn’t afraid anymore, and Hal could see it.

Then his head fell in the basket and joined those of his two friends.

A stabbing pain struck Hal’s heart, yet he showed nothing of the pain he felt watching this. Only then did it feel like his heart was being torn apart, and he wanted to cry, and he needed to gasp for the breath his lungs refused him. But he didn’t relinquish to the urge.

He wasn’t drowning.

There were just six fresh hollow spaces in his heart, and Hal knew the ache left behind by those he’d lost that day would never vanish.

To anyone watching their king, he looked indifferent. No one could see the pain he was in. All except William.

After all the things he’d recently taken notice to and discovered about his young friend, William noticed the pain in those emerald eyes.

...

William wasn’t just a mentor and good friend. He’d always been the man Hal trusted above all else. Therefore, William had officially been declared the king’s advisor, and with his advice, Hal began months of tedious work to change things.

Firstly; make Wade’s dream come true.

Wade’s different flavoured ales was put on the royal’s menu, and after the first banquet, it wasn’t long before people from around the world came to the kingdom of Westhaven for a taste. Because ale as good as Wade’s had never seen the light of day before.

Secondly; bring gender equality into existence.

Men dominated the world. They had all the power. They were the stronger gender. They meant something. 

They could take what they wanted, treat women however they wanted.

The father controlled the daughters until he married them off, and then it was the husbands that controlled them. Fathers and husbands should never have any power over their daughters and wives in any way. 

No man should have control over a woman.

They shouldn’t be above women just because they are men.

Just because it has always been that way doesn’t make it right. Hal wholly believed that.

In the mind of men, the way they treat women, they believe it to be right, and they believe it to be their right to do so. But that doesn’t make it true.

Hal strived to make gender equality a thing, but the absence of its existence had been since the beginning of time. Hal wanted it to come to an end, but what was the fastest way to do so, to as many places and people around the world as possible?

Spread it to two kingdoms instead of one. Hal needed his grandmother for that.

Per Hal’s request, Wade had created his very own recipe for tea. Hal thought it seemed appropriate to offer his grandmother, Queen Amabel of Eastland when she came in her husband’s stead for a meeting regarding the subject of gender equality.

Amabel wore a floor-length, white gown, unintentionally matching her grandson’s white regally embellished doublet in colour. Otherwise, she wore her wedding ring, and an expensive necklace, whilst her grandson wore his black shoes, black trousers, and his golden ring.

Amabel put her cup down after one last sip. “Well, I think the rumours about your friend is true,” she claimed in her heavy Eastern accent from her seat on the sofa opposite her grandson.

He looked at her. “That good then?” Very much like his grandmother, Hal’s own Western accent was heavy, native.

“This tea is unlike any I’ve ever had before,” the fifty-six-year-old queen informed the twenty-two-year-old king. “It’s perfect.”

“Wade will be delighted to hear that.”

Amabel smiled before she said, “Your cousin Starling seemed to have enjoyed her time here.”

She watched as her eldest grandchild gave a nod. “Hm.” He inhaled. “You as well, I hope, despite the circumstances of this... visit.”

Amabel nodded instantly. “Yes, of course. Speaking of...”

Hal’s gaze locked on hers. “Hm?”

“Starling spoke with my husband and me. She told us she had an interesting conversation with you, said we would want to hear what you had to say. I suspect this meeting is to do with that, yes?”

“Right,” he let out, accompanied by a nod. He picked up his glass of alcohol, pushed himself to his feet before he went to lean against the fireplace as the flames crackled. Then he proceeded to meet his grandmother’s gaze. “I was inquisitive. I asked Starling’s opinion on betrothals, gender equality, free will and all that.”

Amabel gave an interested nod. So, Hal told her what his cousin said.

-“Starling, would you divorce Charles if given the choice?”

The nineteen-year-old cast a glance at her two-year-old daughter in Hal’s arms and shook her head. “No. For Chloe I wouldn’t. I want her to grow up with both her mother and father together...”

“But?”

She met his gaze. “If given the choice, and I had yet to have a child... then I would not be with Charles any longer.”

Hal looked down at Chloe to see she was already looking up at him, and as soon as emerald met pale blue, the little girl smiled toothily, and made a cute squealing noise in the back of her throat. Her small arms flung around his neck in a hug as she laughed happily, and Hal hugged her closer to him.

“Betrothals?”

Starling inhaled slowly as she walked alongside her older cousin. “No. Women should have a choice in who they marry. Like men.”

She watched as Hal nodded his agreement slowly, even as he seemed deep in thought. It made her smile.

God, she was glad her cousin was so different from other men. It made him so easy to talk to about anything.

Hal knew his late mother hadn’t wished to marry his late father. She hadn’t wanted to marry a man she didn’t know, didn’t love.

In a betrothal the betrothed man has the choice whether he marry the betrothed woman.

Hal’s father had accepted the marriage and that is why his mother and father had gotten married. His mother hadn’t had a choice in the matter.

There had been many mothers and fathers that had wished their daughter would marry Hal. None of them had a choice. Those who’d been Hal’s age weren’t much against it. But then there were the much younger ones who were. Thus, and because they were no one he found interesting, he declined every offer, and would continue to do so.

“Gender equality?”

Starling looked at her cousin then. “Gender equality? It doesn’t exist.”

“Hm, still, what’s your thoughts on it?”

“Men are human, and women are human. Human rights are women’s rights, and women’s rights are human rights. If we have the law behind us as well, then great.”

“Hm.”

“But you knew that already,” Starling said knowingly. “So, why ask?”

He looked at her. “I wanted to hear your opinion, in your words. Wanted to be certain I was indeed correct in my reckoning.”

She smiled at him. “You already knew you were but thank you for your attentiveness.”-

Hal inhaled slowly as he swished the liquid in the glass. “So, her opinion is very much the same as mine... I think we can both agree that that niece of my mine should be able to live a life without the fear of men. Be confident in her own skin and know that no one can touch her without her consent.”

“I...” Amabel trailed off as she watched her eldest grandson in silence, a glint of pride in her blueish-greenish eyes as Hal downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. She watched his face expectantly as his eyes remained on the bottom of his glass but... nothing. There was no grimace to be found as he downed the burning liquid. Instead he licked his lips to rid of the excess on his rose-coloured lips, savouring the splendid taste. The burn did not bother her grandson like it bothered her still, even though it had been a good thirty-six-years since she first tasted alcohol.

Could it have been his early days spent drinking alcohol in the tavern? She didn’t press and resigned herself to the knowledge she may never know.

Amabel stood from her seat on the sofa and stepped closer to Hal. When he looked up to meet her gaze with his emerald one, she raised a hand and gently caressed his cheek. Her thumb stroked the prominent scar high on his sharp cheekbone.

Handsome, beautiful, confident, independent, attentive, her grandson was, just like his mother had been. Amabel knew Callista would’ve been proud.

The arrow had hit Hal near the start of the Battle of Arrowheads, a battle that had lasted thirteen hours, nearly fourteen. So, how did he survive? The slightest nudge of it, and he would’ve died. It was nothing but a miracle.

Her grandson was so different from all men. He’d survived the twenty battles he’d fought in. Whatever purpose he had in life; she knew it would change the world for the better. Amabel had always known in her heart that he was special, just like Callista had known it.

How much pain had he been in?

She clearly remembered any attempts of inquiry of the pain he’d been in during battle had gone unheeded. 

Hal never said he’d forgotten, nor did he deny he’d been in pain. He did remember, so much was obvious. He just refused to say a thing of the pain he experienced. Why?

There were so many questions she had about her own grandson. So many things she did not know of him. This had always been hard of her to accept but she did indeed accept it reluctantly in the end. Because the respect she held for her young grandson far surpassed the willingness to resign herself to a strained relationship between them, something that could indeed be a consequence for prying.

He respected her privacy, so she would do him the kindness of doing the same.

So, as Amabel held Hal’s emerald gaze within her blueish-greenish one, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”

Hal smiled at her, albeit a small one, but it was enough to make her happy. 

Her smile mirrored his, however hers was wider as she looked at him fondly.

...

From the large, spacious balcony, King Hal addressed his people, “I feel it of utmost importance as king to be truthful to my people. To prioritise my people and their safety... and war is not safe. Misleading, misinformation, lies, it can all lead to war. Power and hatred can cloud any individual’s mind. But for something like power and hatred to overcome a king... it would light a flame that would have the opportunity to continue to grow and spread until, like a forest fire, it consumes the kingdom, its people, and so, it will continue to spread to the rest of the world. Suddenly everyone is at war. A battle after another makes a war – and if it never stops? Eventually, there would be no one left because everyone would be dead.”

King Hal’s eyes slid over the crowd of millions of people as he continued his speech, “Now, two decades ago, before my birth, I am sure many of you remember the peace of which you lived in...”

Murmurs of agreement were heard.

“...specials amongst us.”

Everyone became quiet.

“What changed?” he asked, and watched as person looked from person to person, every man and woman’s eyes looked at everyone around them. “Did the specials start to slaughter us all?”

No one said a word.

“Did we start to slaughter them?”

Now, there was a few murmurs here and there, but otherwise, it remained quiet.

“Therein my point lies.” King Hal wrapped his hands around the rail of the balcony as he looked down upon his people. “See, my father forced my late grandfather Clemente to abdicate. Easy grab for power, right.”

Murmurs of agreement rang out again.

“But what was Jacob’s first action as king of Westhaven, hm?”

Now, the murmurs were of obvious confusion. What was the point of this speech?

King Hal never shilly-shallied, however. “He invoked the kill on sight for specials order after he claimed one special supposedly killed my younger twin sister. However, I have recently come to know the truth...”

There was a moment of silent anticipation as the people waited eagerly.

“...there were two of us, my younger twin and I until there was only me, but it was not for the reason my father had you believe. See, I know now as is common knowledge; my late mother, Queen Callista of Westhaven were, at the time King Jacob forcefully removed King Clemente from the throne – a reckless act of rebellion – to give birth in only a few weeks’ time. But as is also common knowledge; stress put upon a pregnant woman can be harmful to the child.”

Women and men nodded and murmured their agreement.

“Thus, the stress put upon my mother because of my father’s foolish actions caused her to give birth too early. Complications had arisen because of this, which caused the death of my younger twin, sadly.”

Questions arose among the people, along some disagreements with his statement, but King Hal pushed through and his voice rose above any other as he argued his point. “If, hypothetically, there were a special that had succeeded in killing my younger twin, who was he?”

It was silent as King Hal waited for someone to speak, but no one made a sound.

“Or was it a she?”

Now, there were some snorts from the men, some of which spouted some disrespectful comments about the female gender, but King Hal opted to ignore it for now.

“Who was it? Why did they do it? Why was a name never mentioned? A description of their appearance drawn and spread around?”

Silence.

“So,” he looked around at the people with raised brows. “There was no special, there was no non-special, because no one killed any child that day...”

The faces of the people were contemplative as they thought of the logic behind their king’s words.

“...except for King Jacob, of course.”

Hal easily spotted the mournful looks on the faces of parents who’d long since lost their children at the hand of their former king.

“Thus, begs the question; why? Why did King Jacob lie? Hatred, I say. But hatred for what?” King Hal inhaled suddenly. “As many of you may remember – or heard of – when my father was seventeen-years-of-age, he had two friends; one of them, Max, fifteen-years-old, a special; the other, Jack, nineteen-years-of-age, a non-special.”

There were many looks of familiarity.

“Now, emotions are a fickle thing. Unpredictable. Powerful. It can cause random bursts of anger. It can cause us to do and say things we do not mean nor want to do, and often we would not usually do these things either. It can push us into instinctive actions; fight and survival instincts in battle for instance.”

Murmurs of agreement erupted. There were even some chuckles from fellow soldiers.

Hal noticed Edythe Baker. She remained quiet as she looked up at him from the ground with a silent interest in her gaze.

“But what of specials?” King Hal asked.

No one said a thing.

“They’re born with the gift of pain illusion. Not only must they learn how to control such a power, but they must also learn self-control so that, should the situation arise, their emotions don’t control their actions, or the person wielding the gift. But such control takes decades to learn, a lifetime, and most usually, specials never learn it fully. Ever.”

Only then did he pause in his speech to let the words sink in.

“Max was young, and he had very much to learn of self-control and of his own gift. I know Max idolised King Jacob, and so, one day he became envious of the close relationship Jack had with Jacob...”

The elderly did remember.

None of them had ever been afraid of the power of specials, not even after that incident. Even Jack, who’d been Max’s accidental victim, hadn’t been afraid. He had calmly told his younger friend it wasn’t his fault, and that he wasn’t to be blamed for something out of his control.

The only one that seemed to have changed was indeed Jacob Ace. But back then, people thought nothing of it – just assumed the loss of a dear friend weight him down.

As the puzzle seemed to be pieced together all so easily by their king before them, oh dear, do they feel foolish as to have believed the death of Max had been an accident.

“...Max barely had control as it was. Thus, it’s important to remember this; it was an accident, he had no control, he did not mean for it to happen. No, it doesn’t make it right, but it was an accident, nevertheless.”

People remained quiet as King Hal let this sink in.

Hal just wanted to finish his speech at this point, but he knew this would be good in the end.

“Whilst a life ended that day, hatred came to life within King Jacob.”

Realisation dawned upon the faces of the people.

“’The Deserted City Ruins. City of The Perished Ruins.’ Those cities, they are no more as the men, women and their children fled for their lives as we slaughtered them in their sleep. It was all us.”

The silence was overwhelming as the stare of their king seemed to glance at every person in the crowd.

“’Crimson River. Spirits of The Dead Bay. The Haunted Bridge.’ All these places had been given these names because of us. They were filled with the blood of the people that we slaughtered.”

No one dared make a sound.

“’Valley of The Slaughtered Children.’ I remember this,” King Hal mused. His voice held an underlying bitterness. “It was not long after my fifth birthday – mere days really, on the day Jacob’s mother, Queen Annot passed. The Valley along the side of the river, it was always filled with children. Always playing, always laughing. That day was no different. But...”

Not a sound. In fact, it seemed everyone was waiting with bated breath.

“...attack. Swords cut into small children. Blood covered the valley. Little bodies of children floated in the Crimson River. The slaughtering’s and the massacres, they were all un us. Hm... Even I was no innocent in that.”

But you were innocent; you were forced, William thought bitterly, automatically as he looked upon the martial arts prodigy. You may have been an intelligent five-year-old, but you were still only a child; a child who longed for his father’s love. A child oblivious to the mental abuse and the manipulation and the brainwashing he was put through.

William had disagreed with a lot of the decisions King Jacob had done regarding his eldest child, but it was only now he could truly see even a glimpse of how truly horrific it had really been. He could only imagine how much worse it’d been behind closed doors, when no one was watching.

He looked around and saw the obvious signs of disagreement on the faces of the people. William was just pleased the people had enough common sense to see King Hal had been a victim in that situation.

“So, Jacob said.” The comment was full of nonchalance. “And he was correct,” he inhaled sharply. “Did anyone ever wonder why it was given the name ‘The Valley of The Slaughtered Children’ and not ‘The Valley of The Slaughtered Specials?’”

The emphasis on the words couldn’t be missed. Still, the confusion remained.

Pale hands tightened on the balcony railing as King Hal continued, “The children in the valley were not all specials. Half of them were non-specials.”

Quiet murmurs erupted.

“King Jacob, he did not care for it.” The people hushed. “Blood and dead bodies however, that he cared for; gained some bizarre satisfaction from it. He grew to love everything about war – so much, in fact, that he did not speak a word of peace since the moment I joined the council meetings. Not a word.”

All eyes were riveted towards their king.

No one made a sound.

“The reason behind the execution of King Clemente was misinformation given to the people by King Jacob. Clemente never committed treason. He simply taught me everything he knew of peace. The king’s former advisor, Anwir, he manipulated my former friends Wyatt, Sawyer and Wesley to murder the Poindexter family. Only Wade Poindexter lived... These crimes were influenced by King Jacob’s hatred for specials and his love for war.”

William glanced around.

Everyone was silent, completely speechless, and he didn’t blame them. He hadn’t known...

-Then their locked gaze broke as Hal tore his eyes away from his and looked at the death surrounding them.

William watched his friend’s hand tighten around the hilt of his sword, knuckles white before Hal was walking away.-

...but Hal had, because those emotions shown in his actions... Disapproval, disappointment. Hal had known the battles were for selfish reasons, reasons that were only beneficial to their former king. Not the people.

King Jacob had never strived to achieve peace.

“The lie about my twin’s death gave King Jacob the opportunity to invoke the law; ‘specials to be killed on sight.’ It was to convince the people that they’re dangerous. It was to make the people fear them... But it wasn’t the specials that started slaughtering us. It was never them that slaughtered our people to near extinction. And never did they retaliate.”

No one could deny the truth of their king’s statement.

“Specials are currently in hiding. They fear for their lives due something they didn’t do, but no more. Henceforth, ‘specials to be killed on sight’ law is hereby repealed. They’re free and allowed back into the kingdom of Westhaven. So, as to make it clear to you what that means, I say this... we’re all humans, yes?”

The people cheered their agreement.

“And we all want to be treated equally?”

They agreed.

“Thus, we agree that all lives matter?”

More cheers of agreement.

Hal nodded. “Hm, yet women, specials, black people, they have all been treated unfairly. When women’s lives matter, when specials lives matter, when black people’s lives matter... only then does all lives matter. Only then will we have equality. So, no touching a woman without her consent. No killing specials. No racism.”

He inhaled then. “Still, despite the law repealed, I know there is no end to the war between Northenwinter and Westhaven unless King Noah or I die. The war stopped being about for and against specials long ago. It’s just a war for the sake of upkeeping it. I may not be able to end the war right this moment but end, it shall. I will see to it.” King Hal pushed away from the railing and entered the castle.

Though the people were stunned to silence, Hal’s little brothers and sisters could only stare after their older brother.

...

“Equality! Equality! Equality!” the people of Eastland chanted.

When Queen Amabel and King Robert entered through the balcony, the chanting of their people a mere background noise, the sight of their granddaughter and great granddaughter greeted them.

Princess Starling smiled brightly at them. “It went well, I see.”

“I would say so, yes,” Robert answered.

“Hal is so amazing, gran and grandpa,” Starling gushed in a sudden rush of happiness.

Robert smiled. “Yes. It seems to be going well for him.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying. Hal is doing more than great,” Starling declared brightly. “Ah! I’m so proud of him!”

Amabel smiled as she shared a glance with her husband. “Oh, we are too, sweetheart.”

Starlight smiled even wider at that. Then she looked at her daughter in her arms and cooed, “Are you proud of Uncle Hal?”

Instantaneously, Chloe smiled, flapped her arms and squealed happily at the mere mention of her favourite uncle.

“Oh, yes. Of course, you do!”


	28. Chapter 27

Come sunrise, Hal and Lucky set off on Gatlin.

Exited the Bloom Castle.

Through the Bloom Village, and the villages outside the castle walls.

Over the hills, past The Darkened Grove and The Fields of Death and Despair.

Through the Valley of The Slaughtered Children. Everywhere Hal looked, memories flooded his mind.

The Spirits of The Dead Bay. Children, younger than his five-year-old self jumped into the water to escape the men only to drown instead.

They rode over The Haunted Bridge. Children ran over the bridge in a futile attempt at an escape, but by the time they reached the Crimson River, they had already been cut up or drowned.

As they rode passed the Forest of The Ancient Unknown, Hal could hear the screams of pain and terror echo in his mind.

Hal shook his head and focused on their destination.

The Kingdom of Southblues.

...

There was only one more place to visit before their return home.

When they arrived at the Crimson River, Lucky perked up from in front of Hal at the sight of Charlton, but otherwise, the four-year-old remained silent and still in his seat.

The king dismounted Gatlin. “Charlton.”

Charlton gave him a nod in greeting. “Your Majesty.”

Hal sighed quietly and glanced at The Forbidden Mountains. As far as anyone knew, the mountain was uninhabited. That was only because there was no known way to climb the mountain, and no one dared to try in fear of falling.

He glanced back at the older man. “Hm, well... let us go then, shall we?”

...

“There it is,” Charlton gasped as he came to a stop on the mountain top.

Lucky’s mouth was agape with awe at the sight.

In the darkness of the night, torches lit up the wooden huts spread about the small village. A close-knit community of specials.

Beyond the village, there laid the Forbidden Stream.

“West Mountains Shelter, Specials Sanctuary.”

Hal knew the specials were sleeping peacefully, and they were certainly not about to disturb that.

...

Charlton’s back was to the king, so he had to settle for reading the red-haired woman’s lips. “Charlton, you’re back already? Do you have any news?”

Confusion contorted her face. “Then... are you just here to visit?”

Her brows raised. “Meet someone? Who?”

“A special? Well, where is—”

“A non-special...”

Charlton nodded.

The red-haired woman’s brows furrowed. “They’re friends?” Then she shook her head. “You know them?”

Charlton nodded.

“They’re no danger to us here, are they?”

Charlton gave a shake of his head.

The woman’s eyebrows raised. “A king? What king?”

Charlton turned his way, and Hal passed the treeline, with Gatlin and Lucky at his side. Though the woman’s eyes widened, it wasn’t in fear, but in wonder.

When they came to a stop before the woman, Charlton introduced them, “Poppy, this is—”

“I know you,” she cut him off. “You’re the eldest son of King Jacob.”

“He’s dead now.” The nonchalance of his answer was met with a brief pause.

But then Poppy gave a slow nod, eyes flicking around, searching. “I see...” Then her gaze landed on Lucky. “Who is he?”

Hal followed her gaze. “Lucky.”

“And he’s the special that Charlton told me about, I’m guessing?”

“Hm.” Hal nodded.

Poppy just looked at him for a moment. “Charlton here,” she gestured to the man, and Hal threw him a brief glance before he met the elder woman’s bright green eyes. “Said you wish to speak to me.”

“It’s true.”

She nodded and said, “Shall we take a stroll, then?”

“Hm, of course.”

Then he gave Lucky a look that Poppy was quick to understand. 

“How about...” Her eyes landed on a younger red-haired woman with the same colour eyes as she and gestured for her. When the young woman came to a stop beside the group, Poppy continued, “...you, Lucky, go with Nancy here, and play with the other children?”

Lucky looked at the children, who were all around his age. They were laughing as they played with each other.

It was such an inviting sight, but Lucky couldn’t even remember if he’d ever played with another child before.

The four-year-old looked to his older friend, unsure.

In response to Lucky’s stare, Hal let go of Gatlin’s reins and lifted the little boy down from the horse and crouched down to his height. Meanwhile, the surrounding group looked on.

Though her body language conveyed her nervousness to the presence of the king, a non-special, Nancy watched with curious eyes.

Poppy looked on with interest in her green irises. 

“I will be but a moment,” Hal signed, without simultaneously speaking.

Just as Lucky was about to nod, he hesitated. The insecurity that crossed the four-year-olds face didn’t go unnoticed by Hal’s eagle-eyes.

Without Hal, Lucky had no one. Hal was Lucky’s safety.

Lucky’s heart pounded erratically inside his ribcage. “Please don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone, father,” he signed.

He couldn’t imagine a world without—

Only too late did Lucky notice his mistake, and his eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to call his friend that out of fear of rejection. But then a pinkie interlocked with his, and he looked up to meet Hal’s eyes. “I pledge I won’t leave here without you, my Luck,” Hal traced on his hand.

He will not leave me, Lucky thought. I’m his Luck.

Hal promised, and he never broke promises.

Lucky’s heart slowed and settled in his chest as his lips curled up in a smile.

Hal watched as the four-year-old nodded. 

Only then did the king stand to meet Nancy’s gaze. He gave her a nod. “Well, off you go, then.”

Nancy gave him a smile in return. Then she held out a hand for Lucky to hold, and after he’d gotten the reassuring nod from Hal that he needed, he grabbed her hand before they joined the children.

Poppy glanced at the sword at the king’s waist, but just before she could address it, Hal had already walked a step closer to the nearest tree and put the weapon down to lean against it. He proceeded to reach down and grab his beloved black blade, and when he stood straight again, he just looked at it for a moment.

His heart laid heavy in his chest as it ached in pain.

To leave it by the tree or to hand it over to Charlton?

He inhaled quietly, flipped the weapon and caught it by its blade before he handed it over to Charlton.

Hal looked at Poppy. 

“Shall we talk, then?” she asked.

“Hm.” Hal gave her a nod.

He gestured for her to lead the way, and as she began to walk, so did he, but not before he gave Lucky and Nancy a glance over his shoulder.

“She your daughter?”

Poppy looked at the king beside her. “Nancy?”

“The resemblance between you two is uncanny.”

She raised a brow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Hm, absolutely.”

Poppy smiled then. “Then, yes... Nancy is only a few years younger than you are, actually. Seventeen.”

“Hm. I reckoned she was.”

She nodded.

“Your and your daughter’s names, I always thought them fitting for a woman with red hair,” King Hal commented coolly, the compliment offered in such a nonchalant way.

Poppy gave a shake of her head, a strange but appreciative smile on her face.

He truly was a new kind of special, with his offhand compliments and all, she hadn’t ever met before. More so with his kingship. But it was a good sort of different.

Now, news might travel slowly to the West Mountains Shelter, Specials Sanctuary, but she’d heard of the man beside her a handful of times. However, his personality had been different then, she was told by Charlton.

“Do you usually compliment people you barely know?” she asked, and though it might have made her seem unappreciative for the kindness of his words, the smile she’d had told the king otherwise.

“Hm, I only say it as it is,” he told her.

Poppy cast him a curious glance. “Really?”

He nodded.

“So, you always tell the truth?”

“Hm. Honesty is important to me, you see.”

“Then I will tell you this...” she said, and Hal turned his head to lock eyes with her. “...all I’ve heard of you is how immature you are, so I thought you’d be immature before you even spoke.”

“I may have been, I presume,” he said slowly, though he very well knew this was nothing but an act he’d portrayed himself as. “But see, even though I never did want the throne, the safety of my people has always meant something to me... and that includes the safety of specials.”

Poppy stopped walking, and Hal stopped in front of her.

Hal nodded. “Specials are part of my people. You are part of my people... That is why I’ve come here.”

She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what she heard, as if her ears deceived her. “I... we always hoped you would be different but now... now that you’re actually standing here... it is...”

He nodded. “It is a bit overwhelming, is it not?”

“Yeah,” she let out breathily, a laugh slipping out. 

Poppy’s heart swelled with hope.

She’d waited twenty years for this. Was it even really happening? It was hard to believe. But then her bright green irises met King Hal’s emerald ones, and it was enough to know, that yes, this was indeed real, and it was really happening.

...

Poppy embraced Hal.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the king, and he could hear the crack in her voice. It was thick with emotions, and her tone was beyond grateful.

Hal wasn’t much for physical contact such as this, but when he felt tear droplets on the skin of his neck, he squeezed her enough to be soothing, comforting.

He knew what she meant, but still, she whispered, “We can finally live without fear. We can come back to the outside world. So, thank you, King Hal.”

...

Hal’s fingers were intertwined as his elbows rested on his desk. He stared down at the six signatures on the parchment.

King Hal of Westhaven.

Queen Amabel of Eastland.

King Robert of Eastland.

King Oliver of Southblues.

Queen Florence of Southblues.

Head Poppy of Specials.

They had all signed the Treaty of New Hope and Peace.

Hal sighed quietly.

Now, he just needed to end the ongoing war with King Noah of Northenwinter.


	29. Chapter 28

Lucky rocked back and forth on Hal’s king-sized bed. His heart beat erratically in his worry as tiny hands held the small wooden figurine close to his chest.

Hal had made it for him before he left for battle.

Please, let father be okay, he pleaded in his mind.

The four-year-old needed his father.

...

Hal’s arms were crossed as he leaned against the tree.

He looked across The Fields of Death and Despair at the Westwood Woods, where King Noah and his army had built up camp.

It had been weeks since they’d all set up camp, and the food was scarce.

Hal looked over his shoulder in thought as teeth chewed on the inside of his cheek. Should he, even though he already knew it would be futile?

...

When Hal entered King Noah’s tent, the man himself was seated on his little makeshift throne.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” King Noah asked. “Have you come to surrender, young king? Or maybe you have come for another session, have you?” He tilted his head. “You remember those good old days, don’t you?”

Hal did recall those godawful days.

-He was burning, but he tried not to scream—-

But he didn’t rise to the man’s petty taunt, because it was nowhere near as bad as the pain in his body that had been steadily growing worse as the weeks passed.

The incessant ache in his joints.

The pulsing pain in his veins.

The sting of his scars.

The crushing of his ribs.

The steadily growing migraine in his temples.

The crushing pressure against his spinal cord.

The repeated excruciating contractions of his beating heart.

“A cease-fire.”

There was a silent pause.

But then... King Noah burst out laughing, and Hal had to fight down his nausea, and the urge to vomit as his migraine grew worse and pounded against his skull like a sledgehammer.

Then his heart started to hurt more, which caused the feeling of his ribs being crushed to grow worse.

“A cease-fire?” King Noah asked incredulously when he calmed.

“Hm.”

The older man just looked at Hal for a moment, but then he shook his head and heaved a great sigh. “Ah, what the hell. Why not? Let’s shake on it, shall we?”

A... handshake.

Hal knew King Noah had no intention to leave here peacefully, so the moment they arrived back at camp, he parted from his people. When he was a decent distance away, in the dense part of The Darkened Grove, Hal stopped holding it back and caught himself on a tree as he vomited.

As he leaned his head back against the tree, he closed his eyes from the migraine and breathed deeply. Just breathe through the pain.

What was King Noah planning?

...

Hal’s question was answered in the dark of that night when the first scream broke through the silence, and the king was awake and out his tent in a celerity.

Just as his eyes adjusted to the dark, thunder rumbled in the sky, lighting flashed, and rain came down upon him. He could barely see, could barely hear anything but the storm, so he relied on his senses and instincts as much as he could.

He gasped as unexpectedly, lightning flashed, and he was burning. But that brief bright white light was enough for Hal to see the enemy special, whose sword thrust forward. Hal let his foot slip on the muddy earth, so he’d fall on his back, but then it came for his throat...

Hal rolled to the side, tripped the man and the burning stopped.

He swiftly crawled to the enemy and stabbed him in the abdomen. But then he felt a piercing pain in the side of his left leg, and he inhaled sharply as his eyes shut tight. His teeth clenched as he cut through the man’s body, making the man let out a bone chilling scream.

A scream of excruciating agony that only intensified Hal’s migraine.

The screaming stopped, and suddenly everything seemed so quiet as he opened his eyes.

He’d cut into the man’s heart.

Almost absentmindedly, Hal’s hands dropped from the hilt of his sword before a splitting pain cut through his own heart, and his bloody hand clutched at his chest.

He panted through clenched teeth as he pulled the sword from his leg.

It hurt, so much...

His eyes snapped open as a sense of foreboding shrouded him, but before he could turn, he was knocked onto his back, and the excruciating pressure on his spinal cord increased. The gasp which pushed past his lips was strangled as he breathed in the rainwater that rained down on him.

Hal slowly rolled onto his abdomen, climbed to his knees and noticed one of his men... What was he looking at?

He followed his gaze, and just then, an enemy overpowered one of his other men and stabbed him.

His men tried to save their king’s life, but it cost the life of one of them, and he had to watch it.

Just then, the man on the ground moved, but Hal was on his feet faster than his soldier and the enemy’s eyes laid on him.

The man attacked, and Hal ducked under the sword, ripped his own from the dead enemy before he sliced at the man’s ankles. When he dropped to the ground, Hal cut his throat.

Then he turned his head, gave his soldier a nod, and the man was off.

Only when the enemy were dead, could Hal, his men and women stop in exhaustion, and pant for the breath they’d been deprived of through the night.

Though it had become darker because of the on-going storm, the bodies of the king’s men and women could still be seen, and what a great loss it’d been. There was a significant amount of decrease in his soldiers. But all his live ones surrounded him; they were looking to him, and he needed to say something.

Hal was calm, even as his mind raced with thoughts.

He couldn’t feel the racing of a heart inside his chest, because it was beating slowly, steadily, calmly.

As he looked around, he noticed the small amount of dead enemy soldiers.

-Only when the enemy were dead, could Hal, his men and women stop in exhaustion, and pant for the breath they’d been deprived of through the night.-

Just then, Hal understood.

Hal would have less soldiers, therefore much less than King Noah. And if the live soldiers of Hal’s were exhausted, then great, because King Noah’s would be well-rested.

King Noah would have the advantage come morning when the actual battle began. Hal just knew that’s what was awaiting them.

Hal looked at his men and women as his mind formed a battle strategy. “Hm,” he breathed. “We have to work together, now more than ever.”


	30. Chapter 29

Hal stood before his people as they looked back at him. “I have only ever longed for one thing... for my people to live in peace. And so long ago now, when we became a band of brothers on the battlefield... when we became blood brothers as our blood were spilt... I thought we fought for that...”

Emerald eyes looked around at his soldiers.

“...but weren’t.”

All pairs of eyes never left their king.

“However, on this day, we are. And so, I ask only one thing of you. Fight not for yourselves... Fight for peace, fight for our black and white people, fight for specials and non-specials, men and women. Fight for all of us to live a life of safety, happiness and love. United under the crown of Westhaven. So, fight for your families! Fight for your mothers and your daughters! Fight for your fathers and your sons! Fight for your homes!”

“So, band of brothers, band of sisters.” Hal looked to the women pointedly and watched as all of them smiled at his show of respect of their gender as he emphasized their contribution. “Great men and women to it!”

Then the battle began.

A small group of willing and exhausted, armour wearing men trooped onto the battlefield, and as prevised, a large wave of enemy men on horseback streamed onto the field. But before they could reach Hal’s men, the men and their horses fell into the holes in the ground as the spears in the bottom cut through them.

Another wave of enemy men on horseback were sent running, but the same happened to them.

When the third wave of enemy men on horseback was sent out onto the field, arrows shot from the trees and hit them. The others were speared as they fell in the holes.

Then, King Noah and the last of his armour-clad army were sent out on foot. But their heavy armour slowed them down as the weight made them sink into the mud.

Only then did Hal shout, “Charge!”

King Hal’s armourless men and women met King Noah’s armoured men in the middle of The Fields of Death and Despair.

When the second night passed and the sun started rising above the horizon on the third day, Hal inhaled sharply.

It was precisely a year now since he’d killed his little brother.

Just as his heart contracted painfully, Hal slid across the muddy ground, cut an enemy in the back of his knees. As the man fell, Hal raised his visor and stabbed him through the mouth.

Then he stood and looked around. 

Westhaven were winning... 

Then he caught the eye of King Noah, and just like that, the enemy king went off running.

Hal followed, and did everything to avoid the people in his path, attacking and defending whenever it was required.

Swiftly, he turned and sidestepped as an enemy man went right past him in their attempt at an attack. The older man struck, and Hal deflected.

A thrust, but Hal jumped back.

The man thrust again, but Hal beat the sword before he disengaged and stabbed his open right shoulder. Then he proceeded to stab the man in the face before he turned, but he couldn’t see the other king.

He turned in a circle until something moved in the corner of his eye.

King Noah entered the treeline, and Hal started running.

Mid-sprint, he slid on the mud. The momentum gave him the ability to deflect the man to his right before he stabbed him in the abdomen and turned and did the same to the man on his left. Before the man’s sword could touch the ground, Hal caught it by the hilt as he stood up.

He stabbed the two men who’d come up behind him.

Four enemies down. Five to go.

Hal kicked the first in the abdomen before he did the same with the second.

He blocked the third with his left, then his right before he kicked him in the head.

Hal deflected the fourth before he kicked him in the head.

He blocked the second’s attack before he proceeded to kick him in the abdomen.

As he drew back, Hal slashed the third’s abdomen. Then he turned, blocked the fourth’s attack with his left sword before he stabbed the third with his right, but didn’t pull it out.

Hal stabbed the fourth with his other sword before he turned his left to block the first.

As he blocked the fifth, he simultaneously pulled his sword from the third.

He stabbed the second with his right before he looked to his left and did the same to the fifth with his other sword. When he pulled the swords from them both, he continued to run, killing enemies as he went.

The moment he reached the treeline, Hal turned and threw the sword that wasn’t his, and watched as it impaled the first between the eyes.

As he entered the thin part of The Darkened Grove, the forest cast shadows over him as the sunlight of the early morning filtered through the trees.

“You claim you’re for specials, yet you use us and when we’re of no use to you anymore—”

Hal made himself known then as he stepped out from behind a tree to stand in front of Poppy and Nancy before King Noah could advance a second step, which made the man stop abruptly.

The mother and daughter let out a collective breath of relief.

“Retreating?” Hal asked coolly as he slightly pointed his sword at his fellow king.

King Noah didn’t answer. He simply watched King Hal warily, panting.

Hal gave a small tilt of his head. “Hm? You flee, you abandon your loyal soldiers, leave them behind to die out of cowardice. You should have ordered their retreat as well.”

“Cowardice?! I am merely surviving. They should be thankful!” King Noah spat.

“What for?”

“They still have a kingdom with a capable king to return to!”

“Those men out there,” Hal vaguely gestured in the direction of the battlefield with his sword. “They give and give, and you take and take. Where is your bloody gratitude to those men?”

“I am their king!” King Noah bellowed, voice an echo in the dark, spit flying from his mouth at his sudden shout. “And I am supposed to thank them?! They thank me!”

Poppy and Nancy watched as King Hal simply watched King Noah for a moment. What did Hal see?

“A king serves his people. The people serve their king. You keep the people safe, that is your duty. Your people work all day, they cook your food, serve it to you, wash your clothes, change your bedding, clean your castle and your palace – and why do you think that is?”

King Noah remained silent.

“They do so because you don’t have the time. Without the people’s service, you will live in filth.” Hal scoffed lowly. “Hm, without the people, you’d not be a king. They could overthrow you, but they have not.”

King Hal’s voice never raised. It remained low and calm, and whilst that unnerved King Noah, Poppy and Nancy saw power in that; the way he didn’t need to do anything to have such an effect on a person.

Not many could do such a thing.

The mother and daughter were just glad to not be at the receiving end of it.

“So, you do have something to be grateful for. Millions of people who would do anything for you, their king. And now, because of your ungratefulness, on the battlefield your soldiers will stay and fight until they all die.”

“They can retreat themselves.”

“They won’t. You know that as well as I.”

King Noah knew King Hal was right, but... “You really have grown up, haven’t you, Prince Hal?”

Hal didn’t even react at the petty attempt at a taunt.

Then King Noah shook his head. “Shame about Prince Emil. He was such a sweet boy – would have been king if you died when he intended for you to.”

Not, would have been king had he been able to kill you, Hal noted, and like a dark cloud, a sudden dread swept over him. Still, he was ceaselessly calm and his heart eternally steady.

“Not when he rebelled, but before that. You know, when he sent the assassin?”

Hal had always pondered.

How did a fourteen-year-old find an assassin?

“Oh, you didn’t know?” King Noah asked then, in astonished pretence. “Prince Emil asked for an assassin, and I delivered.”

Poppy and Nancy knew what the old king was rambling on about, and it shocked them. Both cast a glance at King Hal, but he remained impassive. 

But on the inside, Hal was breaking. It felt like someone was repeatedly stomping on his beating heart. Again, and again... and again... again. It had no end.

It was just heartbreak after heartbreak, building over each other and hurting more each time a new one beat down on his golden heart. The ache of them never left.

Hal did indeed recall that Brown Beard had a Northern accent, but... he’d just chosen to act ignorant to it, of what it could possibly have meant.

“Of course, it was more that I owed Prince Emil a favour. You see, your capture all those years ago... your brother was so awfully kind as to let us right in, through the underground tunnel. And from there, my men only had to grab you and go.” The glee in King Noah’s voice impossible to miss.

Now, this was no petty taunting.

King Noah had done some damage, even though it wasn’t visible. He had confirmed Hal’s fear.

“But how did King Noah’s men get in?”

Someone must have let them in... But Hal didn’t say that. Instead he shrugged.

It had been Emil all along.

He’d aided King Noah in his quest to capture an eight-year-old Hal.

He’d sent an assassin to kill a sixteen-year-old Hal.

But despite Hal’s realisation that his little brother’s betrayal had been much larger than he’d known, his calm and apathetic exterior never faltered. Hal had been exposed to so many life-threatening situations throughout the course of his lifetime that he’d grown fearless under pressure. That was why his heart didn’t race any longer.

Being fearless had proved useful, and this moment wasn’t any different as King Noah continued, “You kept yapping, hoping and praying your little brothers and sisters were safe as my men tortured you. That included Prince Emil. He wanted you dead and so, you had no idea he didn’t even care about you or about the hand he had in aiding your capture and torture.”

That... hurt.

But Hal knew the other king was wrong about one thing.

Emil may have aided in the crimes against his own older brother, but not because he wanted Hal tortured. A part of him had simply wanted him dead for the sake of ruling the kingdom one day and making King Jacob proud.

If Hal’s little brother had intended for him to be tortured, Emil wouldn’t have hovered and apologised for the pain he’d been put through when he’d returned from captivity. And that knowledge gave Hal a bit of comfort, because his little brother had believed he’d only be killed. A quick and easy death.

Thus, Hal simply looked at the older king. “You done, hm?”

King Hal’s supposed indifference to his taunts only fuelled the fire that had grown inside King Noah, and he lunged to attack, but suddenly his foot slipped on the muddy ground.

Though Poppy and Nancy cracked smiles at the sight, King Noah was just grateful King Hal wasn’t laughing at his growing embarrassment from the humiliating situation he’d found himself in. King Hal merely watched as he leaned against his sword.

But grateful or not for the absence of King Hal’s laughter, King Noah didn’t know what it meant. He may have held the king captive when he was but a child, but King Hal hadn’t said a thing, and it had been a decade and a half since then.

King Hal had only grown harder to understand as the years passed.

Was the young king laughing on the inside?

If he did find this funny, then why not just laugh?

Did the younger king ever even laugh? King Noah already knew King Hal hadn’t been seen laughing since he became king. No such news had spread across the land. And news was fast spreading when it regarded the youngest king in history.

King Noah tried to get up on his feet but merely slipped again.

King Hal just stood there. Why? Did he think King Noah uncapable of getting back up and attacking? King Noah would show him. He would show him, but then he slipped.

His feet kept gliding out from under his feet on the muddy ground, preventing him from standing up. This only furthered his embarrassment and humiliation, but also his fury. So, he tried again and again and again, but he achieved nothing.

Poppy and Nancy watched as King Hal took his black blade and moved to the unaware king and stabbed him from under his chin. They watched as King Noah wheezed, gurgled, coughed and choked on his own blood.

King Noah tried to speak – he really did – as he stared at the king before him, but he couldn’t make a sound as dark spots filled his vision.

When King Hal took hold of the hilt of the blade, King Noah’s eyes widened and before he knew it, the blade had been pulled out and he was falling to the ground.

It wasn’t long before his breathing stopped, and his body went limp.

Hal merely stood there for a moment, because King Noah of Northenwinter was dead, and he, King Hal of Westhaven killed him.

Then the sounds of distant screams and clashing of swords reached his ears again, and he picked up the dead body.

“And you’ve come here, why?” he asked as he proceeded to walk back to the battlefield and the mother and daughter followed.

“Charlton heard of the battle. I knew King Noah would have specials. So, I thought we’d come and help,” Poppy answered.

“Hm, thank you, ladies.”

Poppy and Nancy stared at the king’s back.

A king thanked them.

King Noah had never done that to any specials who’d helped him.

Only when they arrived at the battlefield did Hal drop the body on the muddy ground with a loud thud. Then he turned his attention to the two fighting armies, brought his index and thumb to his mouth and whistled, loudly.

Instantaneously, the clashing of swords and the screaming of men and women stopped, and every pair of eyes landed on the king of Westhaven.

For a moment, Hal did nothing as he just looked back at them. But then he looked at the body at his feet – and like an echo, the people did too – before he nudged it with his sword. “So, King Noah of Northenwinter is dead,” he announced causally.

Everyone knew what this meant.

King Hal of Westhaven had killed the enemy king and won the war.

...

Just like two years in the past, William watched as his friend walked across The Field of Death and Despair. Only this time, Hal wasn’t twenty-one, he wasn’t the crown prince, he wasn’t walking away from him, and he wasn’t wearing the black armour and chainmail of the kingdom of Westhaven.

Hal was dressed in blood-and-mud-covered black shoes, black trousers, and a white doublet. His sword hung at his waist, and the black blade was strapped to his leg.

Then there was that golden ring of his too, of course. William always found himself wondering how the king never lost it during a battle such as the one they just won.

He looked around at the soldiers collecting the weapons of the dead.

This time, the enemy were not all dead. They were a part of his people now.

“William.”

Hal had come to stand beside him, arms crossed, much like himself, as they looked upon the battlefield.

-Then their locked gaze broke as Hal tore his eyes away from his and looked at the death surrounding them.

William watched his friend’s hand tighten around the hilt of his sword, knuckles white before Hal was walking away.-

Hal had walked away back then, but now he was standing right there beside him.

“King Hal.”

Then William and Hal shared a look before the king gave a shake of his head, and the soldier understood. Hal preferred to be called just that; Hal. Not by his title; King Hal, Your Majesty, My King. Especially by his own best friend. But it was a matter of respect. It would only result in believed favouritism among the soldiers of the king, and they couldn’t let that happen because Hal had no favourites.

The king was all about equality.

“Well, we won.”

Hal heaved a sigh, emerald eyes watching his men and women. “Hm... Never did I want to be king, yet...”

“Yet, you’re the king of two kingdoms,” William finished for him.

“Hm.”

Though there seemed to still be a weight on his friend’s shoulders, a certain ease seemed to have overcome him in some way also.

In the king’s speech weeks previous, he’d implied he’d known King Jacob had fought battles for selfish reasons.

Perhaps the knowledge of such a thing had been one of the burdens his friend had been freed of the moment King Jacob took his last breath. Perhaps this was the reason he’d shown such dismay when they won the battle two years previous. Because Hal had known they hadn’t really come any closer to achieving peace. They’d only given King Jacob a momentary satisfaction to a hunger which would never be fully sated.

Northenwinter and Westhaven had been at war for two decades.

King Jacob had had so many opportunities to kill King Noah during the many battles they’d fought over the years, but never done so. All because of his selfishness.

How had William not seen what Hal had seen in his own father?

Wasn't William supposed to be the one clear of a clouded mind? Yet, Hal had been the one to see who his own father really was, even though the king was supposed to be the biased one, considering the relation between Hal and the former king.

It was no secret the relationship between Hal and Jacob had been strained, but it was only after the execution of King Clemente that Hal stopped calling King Jacob father. And just after that he joined his first council meeting...

-“He grew to love everything about war – so much, in fact, that he did not speak a word of peace since the moment I joined the council meetings. Not a word.”-

Hal had said that, and back then, when he joined his first council meeting, he’d just turned eleven-years-of-age.

His friend must have known of King Jacob’s true intentions behind the battles back then. If not before that...

William knew now that had King Jacob ever killed King Noah and ended the war, the former king would have found other ways much worse to cause bloodshed.

He looked at Hal. “What are you to do with Princess Ella?”

Hal turned his head and emerald met black. “Do I imprison her for the rest of her life, you mean.” The king shook his head. “No.”

“What will you do, then?”

“I need to speak with her. Then... we shall see.”


	31. Chapter 30

When Ella was told of her father’s unfortunate demise, she wasn’t sad, just nervous. Especially after her father had broken the truce he had agreed to and had King Hal’s soldiers slaughtered. But it also caused her to think, to wonder... what now?

King Hal had won the war. Therefore, he was the new king of Northenwinter.

So, what would he do with her? Kill her? Imprison her? It would make sense, wouldn’t it? That had been the way of the world since the beginning of time.

But Ella was positive things would change in her home, here in Northenwinter, with King Hal as its king, because the world was already changing, all because of the young king. She remembered him, remembered his promise, and she remembered everything she’d heard of him.

The history’s youngest king.

He had signed a treaty with the Eastland kingdom, the Southblues kingdom, and with the Head of Specials. It should have stopped the war, but it didn’t. Her father had seemed intent to go to war against King Hal even then.

King Hal had declared women were of equal worth to men and should be treated as such, with respect.

Still, she was nervous when her maidservant Lily came to inform her of her new king’s wish to speak with her.

All the way to the office in the Winter Castle, her heart was racing, and her hands were shaking.

When she entered the room and closed the door behind her, she looked across the room at King Hal, whose arms were crossed. His beautiful emerald eyes met her boring brown ones – and, really, now she was envious, because those eyes, they were otherworldly. And god, she had never seen her father stand with a spine so straight.

“Do forgive me, Princess Ella,” he spoke in his thick Western accent. “There was no time to wash this...” he vaguely gestured at his own appearance as he gave himself a swift onceover. “...filth off me. I fear, a change of attire was all I could manage.”

He was polite, a trait her father lacked, and a trait she valued.

Ella did notice it then; the skin of the king which was visible to her gaze was streaked in dried mud and dried blood, but it was far less than it used to be, she would guess. The clothes though – black shoes, black trousers, black tunic – they were all clean in comparison.

There was a sword at his waist and a blade strapped to his leg.

The battle ended only days previous. King Hal must have travelled straight here.

One thing that didn’t escape her notice though... “I do not believe that.”

“Which part?” he asked, as he wordlessly gestured to the sofa in the middle of the office, a silent offer that she took with gratitude.

King Hal moved a chair and set it down a decent amount of distance from her before he sat down. His elbows rested on the arms of the piece of furniture and his fingers intertwined.

She only sat down after he did. Like she should; he was her king now.

Her eyes met his. 

“’I fear,’ you said. I doubt you fear for your appearance, my king. If anything, people speak of your courage. Not your fear. Never your fear,” she answered then, her accent entirely different from King Hal’s.

“Hm... What do you think I fear then?”

Her lips parted in slight shock, but she was quick to answer, “Nothing that I can think of. You seem fearless to me.”

“Hm, do I now?” He tilted his head slightly, and just looked at her.

She nodded honestly.

After a moment, King Hal inhaled sharply. “The only reason I may be fearless, as you say, is because I have been afraid, but even then... I, like everyone else still have my own fears.”

Eyes wide, Ella asked, “Really?”

King Hal gave a nod. “Of course. There is no one in this world that is completely unafraid, even though it may seem so.”

“Do you fear what people say of you?”

He shook his head then. “No... But indulge me, would you? What is it that they say?”

Ella could sense no curiosity in his voice. But then, ever since she stepped inside the office, she could never really tell what he was feeling at all. It felt as if he was an impenetrable fortified wall, that no matter how hard or how long you spent trying to destroy it, make it collapse, there would be no evidence of any damage, not even a scratch. 

His emerald eyes though, they were a different story, as they looked at her with a hidden softness, undetectable if not looked for. And so, her body relaxed, and her hands stopped shaking and she could feel her heart slowing down, no longer pounding in her ears.

“Um... Your bravery.”

At this, she noticed a smirk – was that amusement? – on the king’s face, and realisation hit her then; he knew that already after she said it earlier, so, there was no need to say it twice. Her heart jumped in her chest as she was filled with a sudden nervousness again, feeling a certain warmth to her cheeks, too – and god, she hoped they were not a blaring scarlet red now. How embarrassing.

Please, please, say nothing of it, she pleaded.

“Hm? What else?” King Hal encouraged then, kindly not mentioning her sudden embarrassment – because he certainly noticed the blush on her cheeks, she was sure of it.

A visible breath of relief escaped her lungs, and King Hal noticed. She just knew it, but the king said nothing of it and let her be. Such a gracious opportunity he granted her.

Now she could pretend it never happened. But still, she wished she wasn’t so obviously emotionally expressive, so prone to blushing red cheeks all the time.

Her eyes wandered as she thought and thought. Bravery and courage... “Your exceptional combat skills are admired all over the world. It is spoken of very much now, ever since you won the Battle of Peace against my father. People keep saying how you are the best warrior of the four kingdoms – the best that has ever lived, even,” she said, voice full of respect and admiration of the man before her.

No doubt, King Hal would die a legend once his time came. Die fighting. Die, heart full of courage.

Ella really wished she could become as great a—

“About King Noah...” King Hal began, interrupting her thoughts, and she looked at him. “I am sorry. For having deprived you of a father. I know he was your only relative. Otherwise however...” he trailed off.

“...you are not sorry,” she finished for him, and he met her gaze. “You defeated the enemy, you achieved peace. I understand.” And she really did.

The king gave a nod but said, “Yet, my words remain the same.”

“I am not sad.”

“Hm?” he hummed in question, eyes searching hers.

“I am not sad you killed him,” she clarified.

“That so?”

She gave a few quick nods. “Hm-hm.”

It was a bad imitation of the king’s hum, but a hum, nonetheless.

“How so?”

“He was a meanie,” she said, voice tinged with sadness as she thought of her mean father. “He—when he was to leave for battle, I had chosen the dress I wore to see him off, and he told me to change. Said I looked fat in it and that I would only humiliate him.”

Ella looked in his emerald irises and thought she might have seen a sense of familiarity in them. Recognition perhaps. As if he had been on the receiving end of something similar, like her. Had he?

She could only remember the promise he’d made her all those years ago...

King Hal nodded slowly. “Hm... I prod, it upset you. His words.”

She nodded, too. “Yes... I thought I looked nice. Lily said so,” she added then, as an afterthought.

His eyes searched her own. “’Lily...’” he repeated. “She is your maidservant, no?”

Ella’s heart jumped in joy. King Hal remembered. Her father always forgot, even after so many years of Ella’s repeated utterings of her name.

So, she nodded enthusiastically as she hummed, “Hm-hm.”

She quite liked humming like King Hal did, she discovered. It was fun.

“Well, I would have to agree with her, then,” he was quick to respond.

Ella looked at him funny for a moment. “But you did not see it. So, how could you possibly know this?”

“No,” he agreed. “Does not mean it is not true or that I believe it any less though.”

Her heart warmed. 

She smiled, giggling a little, a blush coating her youthful cheeks. “Thank you, truly.”

“No need to thank me, Princess. I am just telling you as it is.”

Suddenly her smile wavered as a thought it her. “Why... why did my father never... why was he... why did he say such mean things to me?”

“Hey.”

Ella’s head snapped up to look at the king. He had leaned forward and dropped his elbows on his thighs.

When had she looked down at her lap?

His gaze met hers. “It could have been disrespect towards women. It could have been the person he was as a man. I do not know his reasons for hurting you for I did not know your father well, but whatever his reasons were, the way he treated you, there is nothing to justify such behaviour. And neither should you ever allow a man – anyone really – to treat you that way, with such disrespect. You deserve better than that. Alright?”

Ella smiled through her sniffles. “Thank you.”

When she blinked, a tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek but before she could wipe it away, Hal had done so with his thumb, gently.

“Thank you,” she whispered shyly, a small smile curling at her lips.

He gave her a nod and leaned back in his chair, elbows back on the armrests, whilst Ella’s hands rested in her lap.

“Any desire to be queen one day. Do you have any of those, hm?” King Hal asked her then, after a moment of silence, once her tears were gone and she was calm.

Ella grimaced and shook her head in response. “No. I...” she sighed, and shook her head again, quicker this time. “...Just no.”

“No?”

She remained sure in her decision and shook her head.

“I understand,” he gave her a nod. “Neither did I want to be king...” Then he continued before she could ask, “Perhaps you want to be a warrior then?”

Her mind blanched in a moment of astonishment. “Yes. But—but how... how did you...?” Ella seemed to backtrack then, “It does not matter. I am a girl. Girls do not fight, only—”

“Of course, it matters,” King Hal cut her off, not rudely, more to just stop the nonsense spilling from her mouth, and she closed her mouth to listen. “Girl or not, what you want matters. You have heard of me, yes?”

She nodded.

“Then you know of my opinion regarding gender equality, no?”

She nodded again.

“Good. Then you know that men and women are equal. So, all the unfairness you have ever been taught about men being worthy and women being nothing but an object, and women doing as all men say and obey their every demand, forget it. Simple as that. Men may be physically stronger than women but that does not make them – me included – any more worthy than women. Women, like men, should be treated fairly and with respect. Have free will. Be able to say no and walk away from a man without fear. Your body and mind are yours to do with whatever you want, no one else’s. You understand?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod.

King Hal deeply inhaled then. “So, to answer your previous question; you showed an interest in warriors when you mentioned it. I am curious. And so, I must ask; what are your dreams, hm?”

It was not only his words – though they gave her great comfort – but also the way her new king looked at her seven-year-old self. Not only a child but a girl, with such soft emerald eyes, with such respect and interest in his gaze, as if her answer was important to him and he really wanted to know. No one had ever looked at her that way. Her father never had, no matter how much she’d wished he would have. It was only ever the king in front of her.

Was she about to take it for granted? No, she would relish in it, as a warm, comforting, welcoming feeling wrapped around her heart at the first positive attention from a male she had ever gotten.

Shyly, teeth nibbled on her bottom lip as her eyes flickered to her lap. “I... I want to be a... a warrior...” she mumbled and covered her face with both hands.

Ella looked at the king from between her fingers to see him looking at her still, but not with disbelief. And he wasn’t laughing at her.

“A warrior,” he mused. “Perhaps you would like me to teach you then?”

The offer was said so nonchalantly that Ella stopped moving entirely, stopped breathing. But then she slowly moved her hands from her face. “I... but—”

King Hal was shaking his head before she could finish. “Women can fight as well, just like men.”

Ella bit her lips – her upper one, then her lower lip before doing it all over again – for a moment as she looked at him. The king looked right back at her, never wavering, never retracting his offer, and so she had to ask, “Would you really?”

He gave her a nod, emerald eyes sincere as he hummed, “Hm.”

Her tongue licked her lips as she slowly nodded. “I... I want you to teach me.”

He nodded. “Then I will.”

Ella smiled then, and King Hal smiled a small smile back at her.

Then his eyes glanced towards the windows before he looked back at her and sighed. “We better face my new people, yes?”

She nodded.

“Hm.” He nodded before he stood with a sigh. “Come on, then, Princess,” he beckoned her.

As she went to follow, she stopped as a thought hit her... “Wait!” she said, and the king turned to her. “Does this mean you will not kill me? Imprison me?”

King Hal tilted his head, a sudden glint in his eyes. “How would I teach you to become a warrior if you were dead, hm?”

Ella smiled widely at that, feeling slightly foolish she hadn’t thought of this before when he proposed the offer of teaching her. “I suppose it would be impossible.”

“Hm.” He nodded. “You will grow up to become a strong female warrior. I will see to that... Moreover, I did hope our someday would be without such violence.”

She stared at him with widened eyes. “You remember?”

“Hm. I always keep my pledges. Now, face them all with me, would you?”

The king offered a hand to her, and she grabbed it without hesitation. 

Then Princess Ella of Northenwinter followed King Hal of Westhaven and Northenwinter to meet his people.


	32. Chapter 31

Hal’s hand brushed against the cherry blossom flowers in the trees as he, Luck and Princess Ella walked through the garden before he clasped his hands behind his back.

The kingdom of Northenwinter and Westhaven had come together days prior to celebrate Hal’s twenty-third birthday and the union of both kingdoms under his rule. They celebrated the end of the Twenty Years’ War, and they did it alongside the specials. It went perfect, and it was everything Hal could have wished for really.

Since then, the state of both kingdoms had improved immensely. The whole kingdom of Northenwinter had proved to be in such a bad condition when he visited that it made the people ill.

Thus, his first action as the king of Northenwinter had been to share his wealth to help them. His people. Just like he’d done with Westhaven.

Weeks had passed, and the ill people had become healthy again, and no one had become sick ever since.

Everything around them seemed so much brighter than it used to be. All because both kingdoms finally had a king that cared.

A tug on the bottom of his white doublet made Hal look at Luck. “You will take care of us now? We will live with you,” the five-year-old signed.

Hal repeated the words verbally, so the seven-year-old to his right would understand.

About time he taught Ella sign and tactile language, too, was it not?

“You want that? To live with me,” he signed, whilst simultaneously saying the words.

Lucky was quick to nod. 

Hal turned to look at Ella. “And you?”

Brown eyes looked up at him from under her lashes, still the shy girl he met weeks previous, and she asked, “You don’t mind?”

Hal inhaled slowly as he pulled both children to a stop and crouched down to their height. “I may not have known you for long, Ella, Lucky, but you have become someone dear to me. So, if you wish to live with me, know this... my home will always be your home, hm.”

Ella smiled. “Then yes. I want to live with you, father.”

“See, you both already call me father. I fear, you’re both stuck with me.”

“But you’re fearless,” Ella said.

“Hm.”

Hal smiled, albeit a small one, but even then, the servants that witnessed the moment smiled alongside their king.

It was such a beautiful sight, so endearing. Even more so, as that smile was meant for the children that had pretty much become their king’s daughter and son.

...

Hal inhaled and exhaled slowly as he put the wooden box down on his desk and just looked at the object for a moment. But then he opened it, and inside laid a ring and a letter.

A strong sense of familiarity crawled up his spine and into his heart.

Hal recognized that ring.

He picked it up and turned it over in his gentle hand. A golden band, and a round emerald stone – the same ring his mother had worn all those years ago, the same ring she never took off.

Then he picked up the letter before he moved to the large floor-to-ceiling bay window and leaned against the wall. Carefully but swiftly, he opened the letter and began reading;

-Hal, my beloved son

When you read this, then it means you have become king, and I was not there to witness it. Thus, this letter I have written to you will have to suffice, even though there are no words that could possibly convey the love and pride I hold in my heart for you.

There are so many things I would like to say to you, Hal, but first... I am sorry I was not there for you as much as I should have been when I was alive. I should have fought harder, but your father let me not, though I have a feeling you know this already. You have always been such an intelligent child. No doubt you will grow to be an even more intelligent man.

Though you do not want to be king, I know you will not run away from it. I know you will be a wise and fair king. 

You have always made me proud, so proud, of how well you treat your little brothers and sister – and so, you will treat the child I carry. It brings me peace, such joy, to know that when I pass, you shall look after your brothers and sisters better than I ever could, better than your father ever could. Especially with those combat skills I have seen that you have. William tells me it is not long until you become the best fighter our kingdom has ever known.

Hal, I know I had already gifted you a ring on your fifth birthday.-

He looked down at his left pinkie. A golden band with his cursive written signature on it.

-But this one is different.

Emerald green, like our eyes; eternity.

The round shape of the stone; love.

This ring was made for you and I, to convey the timeless love I hold for you, because the day I gave birth to you, you showed me a love I had never before known; a mother’s love, an unconditional love. And it is truly the greatest love I have ever felt.

Hal, you know where to bear it.

Farewell, my son.

Love, your mother.-

Hal inhaled a slow breath as he closed the letter and looked down at the ring in his hand. He did know where to bear it. He put it on his left middle finger, just like his mother had worn it a decade and a half ago.

He looked out the window, and there, in the cherry blossom garden was his friends and family.

Back at his desk, he put the letter back in the wooden box and closed it before he looked at the drawn portraits of his family and friends hung on his wall.

His son, Lucky Ace, and his daughter, Ella Ace. Both had been added to the collection just days prior.

Wyatt and Sawyer and Wesley.

Tara and Beck Poindexter.

Thomasin and Thomas Ace.

Emil Ace. And the black dagger, with an emerald stone in the hilt, the one his mother had given him and the weapon he’d used to kill his little brother.

He’d lost five friends, two cousins and his little brother in less than a year.

A jolt of pain cut through his heart.

That heart-pain, that ache in his joints and veins, that burning pain of his scars previous broken and dislocated bones, that crushing pressure in his spinal cord that always made his back feel too warm and numb, and the migraine. All that pain was still there, becoming worse day by day.

But as he joined his brothers and sisters, friends and children in the garden, he knew, despite his desire not to, he could be the king of two kingdoms because Hal had achieved his goal.

Hal had won the Twenty Years’ war, and he’d brought his people peace.

Hal had earned the councils trust and respect, which was much stronger than the trust and respect they’d held for the previous king, because of Hal’s unexpected but tremendous change from his façade to his true self.


End file.
